


to the lonely sea and sky

by pennylehane



Series: sea-fever [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alexander Hamilton's Poor Life Choices, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Polyamorous Alexander Hamilton, Protective Alexander Hamilton, Psychological Torture, Scottish Folklore, Selkies, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennylehane/pseuds/pennylehane
Summary: Thomas Jefferson drew his horse to an abrupt halt at the sight before him. There was a man standing in the path ahead of him, shaven-headed and naked as the day he was born, staring up at Thomas. His eyes were as pitch black as a midwinter night, irises as wide and round as the seals Thomas often saw on the pebbled beach. Although Thomas Jefferson came to Scotland for a selkie bride, he's sure the man will suffice. Unfortunately for him, there are treacherous people about- exactly the kind who might help a selkie claim back his skin.





	1. Selkie Brides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Beta'd by the wonderful [lafayettethecinnamonbaguette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafayettethecinnamonbaguette/pseuds/lafayettethecinnamonbaguette). If you don't know the story of the selkie bride, there's a version [here](http://www.weingartdesign.com/TMaS/Stories/tmas1-SelkieBride.html).

The cold grey waves crashed and snarled against the craggy rocks. The glaring sunlight glinted from each curve and corner of the pebble beach. Grey head bobbed up and tossed themselves between the floats of foam. And the selkies were shedding their skins.

Aaron Burr draped his skin carefully over a smooth rock face, out of the sunlight where it would not dry out, and followed the others to the grassy patch of sunlight where they could rest awhile. Lay himself down and closed his eyes.

A heavy head thumped down on his chest, making him give a soft, low growl.

“Aaron,” Theodosia whined as he shoved her down to his abdomen.

“I can't breathe, Theo,” he mumbled. Another form curled around his legs, adding to the warm, cosy mess they were becoming.

“Well that doesn't matter,” Theo insisted. “As long as we’re both comfortable.”

Bellamy’s distinct throaty laugh bubbles up from where he had slumped over Aaron’s knees. “And you don't need to move your legs.”

“And if I do need to?”

“How unfortunate for you, love.” Theodosia’s breath fluttered warmly against Aaron’s stomach. He relaxed.

The pod had been gathering off this little stretch of coast for weeks now, watching the beach cautiously for signs of humanity and finding none. Far fewer humans went hunting for selkie brides nowadays than they had been in Aaron’s grandparents’ day, but there were always docking fishermen or roaming farmers who might catch sight of a resting pod and snatch the opportunity. It took weeks to declare a beach safe. Theodosia had been complaining of the boredom for weeks now, and few disagreed. Aaron held his tongue. He had little objection to the wait, in truth, almost enjoyed the slow, patient wait and measured vigil.

The quiet little beach had gone undisturbed, and now Aaron heard the soft murmur of the whole group gathering on the shore. A few children were giggling as they played catch or ran about or enjoyed the novelty of hands and thumbs. Most preferred to do as Aaron and his friends had, and seized the opportunity to relax and sun themselves in relative safety, without the fear of sharp teeth or tangling nets. Selkies were weak out of water, as all creatures were weaker in the domains of men. Already Aaron could feel the weight of dry land pushing at his chest. Though that could just as well have been Theodosia.

Curlews and snipes keened and whirled in the sky above him like dancers at a winter’s ball. A vole nuzzled curiously at his fingertips. Against the backdrops of wailing wings and biting waves, Aaron could barely hear the older pups trading scary stories as they lounged against the rocks.

The stories were the true gem of coming ashore, for most. There were a few who relished the chance to have hands and fingers, leaving charcoal doodles on the rock faces or building elaborate castles from the stones and sands. But for Aaron, it was the chance to listen. Stories weren’t the same in the hazy, half-real language of seals, which never lent themselves to abstract thought.

Matthias was talking about a finman he had crossed in the waves off Shetland, who had cast up a wave so tall to throw him aside that he had been ripped clean out of his skin and almost lost it in the waves. Next might be Aaron’s old favourite, Bellamy’s story of the redcap he had met in a castle when he strayed too far inland, and the gory sight of the rivers of blood dripping from his captured aristocrat. Theodosia liked to tell of the sea-trow which had helped Aaron spirit her away from her last pod, when she had wished to start anew. Old Benedict preferred the sweeter stories, talked about the clever hogboon that had helped his sister find her sealskin and escape her human groom. He still drew close to the shore to watch over his niece and nephews whenever they strayed too close to Hound Point.

Aaron had never told stories. He listened. He listened to the scary stories, with a devoted ferocity that had Old Benedict chiding him for morbidity. Closed his eyes and made notes. He knew how to dispel shipwreck ghosts and spot a kelpie on the shore. Knew each herb and flower in the land, which would tame a faerie or kill a man. Wouldn’t fall afoul of the old traps.

Save, of course, for the oldest trap there was for selkie folk to fear.

For when Aaron felt the chill of dusk falling over him, and stumbled drowsily back to the rock of skins, he was forced to watch in silent horror as his closest friends donned their dappled felts and retreated, weeping, into the sea without him. His skin had been stolen.

***

Thomas Jefferson drew his horse to an abrupt halt at the sight before him. There was a man standing in the path ahead of him, shaven-headed and naked as the day he was born, staring up at Thomas. His eyes were as pitch black as a midwinter night, irises as wide and round as the seals Thomas often saw on the pebbled beach.

Thomas tugged on the reign lightly so that his horse turned sideways to the road and he could peer down at the stranger. He raised an impassive brow. “Can I help you?”

“Sir, you have my skin,” the man said, his tone flat and emotionless as the inland moors. His eyes treacherously fearful.

“Hm,” Thomas said. Leaned down a little to loom over the small figure. “And you are sure of that?”

“You have my skin, sir.”

Thomas laughed. “Well, I’ve only one horse, and I must be home. Up.”

The man scrambled to obey, harried by Thomas’ disinterested tone. Clutched awkwardly at the saddle, fighting to keep his skin from brushing up against Thomas’ fine clothes. When they reached the little cottage Thomas had acquired, well into the woods, sickeningly picturesque, he dismounted without casting his gaze back over his shoulder and entered the house.

Walked upstairs and into the master bedroom. Lounged comfortably against the dresser, and watches the little selkie slip in after him.

“I’m going out,” he said. “You may borrow some clothes."

The selkie nodded, positioning himself right in the centre of the room with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Thomas walked past him to stand in the threshold of the door. Even slouching against the frame, he was easily a head taller than the selkie.

“Do you people have names?” he demanded.

The selkie came within a hair’s breadth of meeting his gaze. “Aaron Burr, sir.”

“Burr.” Thomas stood upright and patted down his jerkin, checking on the stolen sealskin. “I was looking for a selkie wife, of course, but you’ll do. Stay.”

He turned away and left.

***

The human was gone. Aaron crossed to the dresser, hands trembling, and pulled out a few garments at random. Forced them over uncooperative limbs.

Of course, the man had wanted a selkie wife. There was little else that mortal men came after selkies hunting. But he had brought Aaron home anyway, not thrown the skin away to try again.

Perhaps he knew that the selkies never returned to the same beach twice within any one mortal’s lifespan. Perhaps he thought that a selkie maid might come looking for Aaron, though none would.

There were plenty of explanations. Aaron’s stiff fingers finally worked out the stubborn fastening of the borrowed shirt, believing none of them. The man had seemed to assured, too proud, even, to be conducting anything but his original plan. Yet Aaron was evidently not what he had intended to capture.

Little matter. The human was probably long gone to hide or bury his skin, and as long as that was out of reach, Aaron was trapped as surely in his fragile human form as he was in the stranger’s locked bedroom. 

 


	2. Redcap Dye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Aaron attempt to reach an understanding of one another, and the Marquis de Lafayette visits an deserted castle.

Thomas stayed the night at an inn in town after disposing of the skin, as it was far too dark to ride back out into the woods. Come morning, he ate there, and asked the maid to wrap his leftovers up in a neat package to go in his saddlebags for his return.

He tossed the parcel onto the dining table and headed upstairs. The selkie must have been able to hear him coming, as when Thomas pushed the door open, Aaron was standing in the center of the room with his hands tucked behind his back, almost exactly as he had left him. At some point in Thomas’ absence, he had scavenged himself a pair of overlarge trousers and a shirt which hung awkwardly from his skinny frame. His gaze was trained on the floor at Thomas’ feet.

Thomas took his time looking over the room, eyeing the neatly made bed and untouched bookshelves. If the selkie had used anything except the dresser, he had hidden it well.

“What have you done while I was gone?” he asked coolly.

Aaron hesitated. “I borrowed some clothes, sir. I slept. And I waited for you.”

“Slept where?”

“On the floor, sir.”

Thomas nodded. “Good boy,” he said slowly. “That won’t be necessary in future, of course.”

If he hadn’t been watching for it, Thomas would have missed Aaron’s flinch entirely. Good. He turned on his heel and called for Aaron to follow him downstairs and into the dining room. Sat at the head of the table, and watched the selkie hover awkwardly at the door. Thomas kicked the seat to his left out a little.

“Sit.”

Aaron sat. Thomas pushed the parcel of leftovers towards him and gestured for him to unwrap them.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Eat.”

Aaron sat up a little straighter, and began picking delicately at Thomas’ table scraps.

“My name is Thomas Jefferson,” he said. “Do you know what I want with you?”

Aaron swallowed. “You said you had wanted a selkie bride, sir.”

“Yes.” Thomas leaned forward on his chair, propped up on his elbows. “My own wife passed, fairly recently. She extracted from me on her deathbed a promise that I would never love another woman. Of course, I intend to keep it.”

“But a selkie maid is not a woman,” Aaron said, quietly. “I understand, sir.”

And Aaron, after all, was even less a woman. “Then I am sure you will not need it explained what I want from you. I intend to remain in Scotland for a matter of weeks, and then I shall return to America, where I have work awaiting me.”

The selkie choked on its inhale, head jolting up to meet Thomas’ gaze with wide, frightened eyes. Brutishly quick, Thomas raised his hand and smacked it hard across the cheek, feeling cool smooth skin under his knuckles as its head snapped to the side and it cringed down in its seat. He leaned back, waiting.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Aaron said, his tone measured and barely shaking.

Thomas nodded. “Good boy,” he said again. “For the few weeks we are alone here, I will be patient with you. I understand it can be difficult to adapt to human customs.”

“Thank you, sir.” Aaron smoothed out the now-empty handkerchief and folded it neatly along the impressed creases.

“By the time we return home, however, I shall have expectations, which you would do well to be meeting.” Thomas stood. Aaron scrambled to his feet after him as he headed back up the stairs. “I have some correspondence to attend. For now, you will have the run of the house. Do note that the door creaks, and if I hear it open, I will make quite sure that you regret it.”

***

Of all the things Gilbert had anticipated on his return, all the range from jubilation to admonishment- he’d never thought to expect boredom. He had gone home, back to his wife and children, carried on exactly as he had been before he left- and the itch had grown restless in his limbs. He had had enough of bloodshed, true, seen a plenty of war, but still he longed to travel. His first thought had been to return to America, see what had been done with the young nation he had helped to bring alive, but a few letters of inquiry had revealed all his friends to be overseas on travels of their own, or busy with their own affairs.

And so, on a few words of commendation from a friend, Gilbert had wished his wife farewell, and boarded a ship for a brief voyage. He had heard wonderful things of the developments arising in Scotland, and he had a few friends whom he knew to be somewhere in the country, if he had the luck to find them.

Already, he had had the chance to stop and meet with authors and scientists, men of letters and intellectuals who were more than happy to give him bed and board and stimulation. Now, though, he was alone in the chill lands North-West of Aberdeen, after almost a day’s walk. He had been offered a carriage, of course, but declined so that he might wander amongst the wilds, and see what the writers and poets of these hills were so enraptured by.

Now, as exhaustion snatched at his lungs, Gilbert was grateful for the sight of a grand, empty castle where he might rest a little while. He unfolded the last of the food he had brought with him, and sat back against the slope of the hill. Before he could bring even the first bite to his lips, he felt eyes upon him.

“Hello?” he called. “I see you there.”

A stout figure emerged from the piles of jagged rubble, waist high and built entirely of wiry muscle, dressed in a drab little suit and a dark red cap, which he doffed to Gilbert. “Sir.”

It always paid to mind your manners amongst the fae, especially ones armed with sharpened pikes. “Would you care to join me?”

“Aye.” The little gentleman approached, and squatted opposite him. “You can call me Cap-O’-Dufftown.”

“And you may call me the Marquis de Lafayette. Some cheese?”

Cap-O’-Dufftown ate inelegantly, with oversized, squared teeth vying for prominence in his jaw. “Marquis?”

“Marquess,” Gilbert translated.

The little fellow repeated the word thoughtfully, tasting it. There was an odd glint in his red eyes which made Gilbert’s hands itch for a sword. But it was never a good idea to draw iron against an unknown fae. Instead, he finished his meal and slouched elegantly back, letting his fingertips fall casually onto the pommel. The little man stood to brush down his trousers. “So what do you do, Mr Marquess, who calls himself a Marquis?”

“In this moment, I am simply a traveller in your lands,” Gilbert said. “And you, Cap-O’-Dufftown? I’m afraid I don’t quite recognise your sort by your look, or your garb.”

Cap-O’-Dufftown laughed roughly. “No reason you should, lad. There’s not many of us this far North, we live mostly down along the border. I came this way long ago, and have made my home in this ruin, so I’ve no intent of turning back to my old lands.”

“I’m glad to hear your home is so pleasing to you.”

The fairy man twirled his pikestaff pensively between his palms. “Aye, though my hat’s beginning to lose it’s sheen,” he said. “Not so many visitors this far north.”

Gilbert blinked. “Your hat, sir?”

“My hat.” The pike continued its upwards spin, pointing at ground and sky and ruin and Lafayette- it jolted forwards. Gilbert’s sword clattered to the ground unused as blood spurted from his gullet. He scrambled back, spasming around the gaping tear in his abdomen.

“My cap is in need of fresh dye,” said the redcap, advancing on his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I ought to apologise to literally everyone I'm torturing in this story... blame my beta, its all her fault.   
> I'm going away on Tuesday, and I should have wifi often enough to keep updating once a week, but they might not be quite on schedule for the next couple of weeks.


	3. Men of Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a special Christmas treat, someone in this chapter is actually happy!

There was a small bookshelf in the kitchen. Aaron approached it slowly, frowning at the titles. He could only imagine that they must have been the kind of books that Jefferson had expected a new wife to be interested in- books on etiquette, cooking, sewing, cleaning. Nothing the human had struck him as the kind of man to bother himself with.

Aaron had never touched a book in his life. He had learnt to read with the other pups, from charcoal letters scrawled on cave walls, seen a printed sheet of paper once or twice which had been lost on a pebbled shore. He trailed a fingertip over the titles, feeling the stamped indents of the letters. Huffed out a quiet, breathy, sigh.

The run of the house. That must mean that there was something Jefferson wanted him doing, if the human had simply wanted him out of sight he would have locked him in again.

Aaron glanced at the door. The treacherous, creaky hinge. It wasn’t that this could be a test- he was absolutely certain that it was a test. He had his back to the window, and no intention of opening it. Even if he had had the slightest idea where to start searching for his skin, Mr Jefferson would not have left him unattended if he weren’t confident that he could recapture him should he try to reclaim it.

If he didn’t look at the window, he wouldn’t see the woods. If he didn’t open the window, he wouldn’t hear the distant roar of the sea, nor catch the biting salt wind twisting inland.

Aaron pulled a book down from the shelf and sat down with it on the stone floor. Began to commit it to memory.

Continued.

Read.

Memorised.

But even through the faint haze of terror, the book was mind-numbingly dull. If this was the kind of thing that was inflicted on human brides, Aaron could see why they were in such short supply that men felt the need to abduct selkie maids in their place.

Aaron pushed on, determined. Jefferson wanted him to learn human customs. If the books here were to be believed, there was an incomprehensibly long list of them.

Above his head, a bell rang. He jolted hard enough to shake the book from his grip, craning his neck for the source of the sound. After a few moments, the bell rang again insistently. Aaron cringed.

He slid the book carefully back on the shelf, and ventured into the hall and up the stairs. The bell rang, a third time, sending Aaron skittering right up to the door of the study. It was ajar.

Aaron pushed the door, very lightly, and let it swing open another two inches. Locked his gaze on the floorboards and slipped inside.

He was met almost instantly with the sudden force of a fist on his cheek. He caught himself on the wall before he could hit the ground and stood there, hunched over, waiting for another blow. It failed to fall.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“When you hear the bell, I expect you here instantly,” Jefferson said coolly, returning to his desk.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s cold. Stoke a fire and bring me up a pot of tea.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron waited for Jefferson to flap a hand vaguely at him in dismissal and stepped back out of the door. The foul ring of the bell was still ringing in his ears, made worse by the stinging pain in his cheek.

He hesitated halfway down the stairs to cast a furious glance over his shoulder at the study door. Jefferson must know that fae hated the sound of bells.

Hissing a breath out almost silently through his teeth, Aaron stepped back into the kitchen. Wondered helplessly whether lighting a fire would be covered by the book on cooking.

***

Alexander Hamilton caught the little boat by its prow and dragged it up onto the shore, where Laurens was waiting for him.

He turned. “Are you going to help?”

“Even better,” Laurens said, slouching back against a rock. “I’m going to watch.”

“Better for you, you mean?”

Laurens laughed, coming up behind Alexander and wrapping both arms around his waist. “I could be persuaded to do a little more.”

“Why, Laurens!” Alexander exclaimed in mock outrage. He pivoted in Laurens’ embrace and leaned back so that his lips were just out of reach. “I am a married man!”

“Aren’t we all?” Laurens demanded, chasing after him.

Alone on the chilled beach, there was a soft clash of warm lips, cold fingers clinging to sweat-soaked shoulders. The waves crashed. The wind roared. Laurens sighed in Alexander’s ear.

“It is far too cold for this nonsense,” Alexander said, extricating himself. “Let us get back to our rooms.”

Laurens laughed. “First a far-off wife, and now the weather- I could almost come to think you didn’t want me.”

“Could you?” Alexander repeated, turning so that he pressed heatedly against Laurens’ thigh.

“Almost. Very well, you ridiculous creature, let us get back to somewhere warm.”

Alexander felt a pout twist his upper lip. “Is there anywhere warm in this godforsaken country you’ve insisted on visiting?”

“Visiting,” Laurens repeated disparagingly. “We are not tourists, my dearest, we are scientists.”

“You might be a scientist, if in only the most stretching recesses of the word’s meaning, but I most certainly am not. I did not study Law so that I could spend the rest of my life messing around in rock pools on the Scottish coast!”

Laurens shoved him, laughing, and Alexander shoved back. They jostled and wrestled on their way back to the little village, and the inn they had rented rooms at. Throwing off his coat, Alexander fell inelegantly into Laurens’ arms and knocked him onto the bed.

Laurens huffed at his sudden weight, shoving. Alexander rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows.

Laurens was staring at him with an almost desperate, haunted look in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Alexander asked, reaching forwards without thought to cup his cheek.

“Will this work?” Laurens asked, helplessly. “There’s so much that could go wrong.”

Alexander’s lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve never seen you look afraid before.”

“I’ve never thought I could lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?” Laurens’ hand stroked up along his jawline as carefully as if he were made from spider-silk. “We have a plan, remember?”

“We have a plan,” he repeated, still staring at Alexander’s lips. “I know.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Well, our last plan ended with a general shot and you sent home in disgrace.” Laurens smiled, but humour failed completely to sparkle in his eyes.

Alexander surged forwards and knocked him back into the mattress. “This one will work,” he insisted. “We’ll go back to New York, to our wives- don’t make that face!”

“You can’t expect me to be delighted by the prospect of a wife awaiting me.”

“Why not? I am.”

“Alexander.”

He ignored Laurens’ cooling tone. “I don’t believe for a moment we were put on this earth to love one person alone.”

“If you insist.”

“You don’t believe me.” That was fine. Alexander could change that. “But you’ll be happy. You’ll publish your book- we can’t spend all this time on the sea without any of your damnable research to show for it- I’ll start my firm. We’ll write essays again.”

He said exactly as he might have said  _ ‘we’ll dance in our parlour’  _ to Eliza, building dreams up from nothing but lips and breath. Laurens smiled.

“I do love you, Alexander.”

“Then I suppose it’s just as well I love you.” He caught Laurens’ shoulders and spun so that their positions on the bed were reversed, reaching up to start divesting them both of their clothing. “Want me to prove it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being abroad has actually made this a little early, since I'm five and a half hours ahead of my usual time zone. Merry Christmas to everyone, especially my wonderful beta, with whom I'm doing a gift exchange, so you should definitely check out those fics when they appear.
> 
> I added mine today actually, it's a jeffburr au which is not horrible and painful. My treat! 


	4. The Churchyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week of training him, Jefferson demonstrates his poor comprehension of the word 'reward'. Meanwhile, unknowing of his friend's plight, Alexander waits for John on the cold clifftop outside the church.

Thomas awoke slowly as sunlight spilled in through the window pane. The cold Scottish dawn was grey and pink, without any of the warm golds he missed so much. The bedpan had long since cooled, but warmth radiated from the small body curled up at the foot of the bed.

Thomas propped himself up on the pillows, and looked down at the selkie. Aaron was coiled up on top of the sheets by his feet, where he would have jostled Thomas awake had he tried to leave the bed. His limbs tucked up under him to occupy as little space as possible. His deep black eyes were gazing up at Thomas, not quite making eye contact. Much better.

He kicked Aaron through the covers. “Run downstairs and fetch breakfast. I’ll take it in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron scrambled from the bed and slipped out through the door soundlessly. Thomas watched him go and sat up with an indulgent stretch. The selkie was improving. He seldom made a mistake twice. Once Thomas had dealt with an infraction, he could be sure it would not be repeated.

Thomas stood and began to dress himself. He had never had the patience for those with a tendency to linger about the house in their sleepwear. Fine clothes cut a good impression, and when there was nobody visiting then the impression he left on the staff was all the more important. The selkie would not fear a man who was at anything less than his most put together. And fear was, unfortunately, entirely necessary for now. Once they were in America, with the damn thing’s skin an ocean away, they would be able to progress.

When Thomas entered the dining room, his meal was waiting for him, and Aaron hovered awkwardly by the door. Thomas ignored him and sat down to eat.

At least the boy’s cooking was improving. And he was being considerably less wasteful— for a few days early on, he had produced portions easily large enough to feed Thomas twice over, and whilst Thomas could afford it, he had little patience for such gross excess. The remnants of these meals had been fed to the little wildcat that visited the garden each night, or thrown out over the flower beds to compost. By the end of their second day, Aaron had learnt moderation.

Once sated, he kicked out a chair and gestured Aaron into it. Pushed over the plate. Aaron waited quietly for Thomas’ permission to begin, and then began to eat with considerably more delicacy and precision than he had shown previously. Thomas watched, approving. The little selkie was improving rapidly in most aspects.

It was not entirely a smooth progress. Thomas’ first attempt to have Aaron dress him had been frankly disastrous. Attempts to put an end to Aaron’s trembling hands had only worsened the problem, and he had eventually given up on bringing such a skittish creature quickly in line. Skittishness could be cured through less exhausting means.

He reached forwards under the table and let his hand rest lightly on the selkie's thigh. Aaron went stock-still, breath falling silent and his gaze flickering from his plate to the table's edge, where he couldn't possibly have been able to see the hand.

Thomas watched him. As the moment dragged on, he let his fingertips dig delicately into the selkie’s flesh. It gave a soft, stuttering gasp of pain or fear, and then slowly adjusted its grip on the tableware.

Aaron ate with slow, almost clockwork carefulness, staring straight ahead until he cleared his plate and set the cutlery down at a neat angle. Thomas stroked up his leg, light as the rasp of fine silk, and withdrew his hand.

“Good boy,” he said. Sat back more fully in his chair. “Today is Sunday, and I intend to go to church. You aren’t welcome in there, of course, but since you have behaved yourself I am willing to permit you to join me on the way there. Otherwise I shall simply lock you in the bedroom whilst I am out. Which do you prefer?”

Aaron’s wide brown eyes flicked up to Thomas’ shoulder level, hesitant. He had not offered him a choice, before now.

“Which is more convenient for you, sir?” he asked, slowly.

Thomas backhanded the creature, straight across the purpling bruise over its left cheek. It shrank down into the chair.

“I’m not in the business of asking trick questions,” he said coolly. “If I offer you a kindness, I expect it to be received as such.”

“I apologise for questioning you sir,” the selkie said. Then, after a long pause as he straightened himself up- “I would like to leave the house?”

Thomas nodded and gestured for Aaron to stand and pull his chair out so that they could ready themselves. The selkie remained silent, watching owlishly as Thomas opened his case of summer clothes, unneeded in the cool Scottish autumn, and drew out a light coat for him to wear. Left him to struggle with the fastenings as Thomas readied himself.

As they stepped out through the door, the selkie froze and swayed, eyes closed as if hypnotised by the chill salt breeze creeping in from the cliff-edged sea front. Thomas allowed him the moment, watched tension seep out from his every muscle and bone. Then clapped down a hand over Aaron’s shoulder to steer him out of the garden. The selkie stiffened and corrected his posture, back straight and hands clasped. He fell into step a half-pace behind Thomas and a little to his left as they approached the village church.

***

The catacombs beneath the castle were impenetrably dark. Gilbert hung suspended from his wrists, his skin itching where blood ran down over it, drying on his skin and dripping into the pool below with an irregular  _ drip, drip, drip _ .

Sometimes, in the darkness, he heard footsteps. Sometimes they approached, with the groaning huff of the redcap’s breath, followed by the rippling swish as he ran his foul hat through the growing lake of Gilbert’s blood.

Once, he heard laughter.

But mostly, there was the silence. The croak of old bricks, the distant roar of the wind. The snuffling of little woodland things. His own ragged breath.

Something skittered up his torso and over his cheek. He strained to ignore it, squinting his eyes tight shut as it scurried up into his hairline.

Footsteps. Down the stairs into the chamber. Across the stone floor towards him. The hot stench of inhuman breath hit him through the stale air. Body heat struck Gilbert’s skin. He flinched.

The redcap laughed with the rolling timbre of gravestones toppling onto a frosted ground. Something cold and sharp pressed against his collarbone.

“No,” Gilbert groaned hoarsely.

“Quiet,” snapped the redcap. “Hold still.” It dug the tip of the knife in, and dragged it slowly up along the bone. Gilbert’s breath hitched.

The knife pulled away, and something butted against his lips. He flinched away on instinct, before recognising the swill of water against his chapped lips. Desperate, grateful, Gilbert drank.

And the blood trickled down his chest and around his thigh to the tips of his dangling toes.  _ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

***

Alexander Hamilton resisted the urge to kick petulantly at a headstone. The churchyard was quiet and solemn despite the slow trickle of visitors arriving for the service. A starling landed in the winter-stripped branches of the rowan by the gate, cawing judgmentally at Alexander.

He resisted the urge to tell it to shut up, but fell still in his pacing to turn and glare at it. Then blinked, confused, at the scene unfolding beneath the tree.

Two men approached the church. The first was tall and finely dressed, with a shock of dark hair and a disdainful curl to his lip. Alexander disliked him on sight. His companion was shorter, shabbier, barefoot and so frail that Alexander half thought that the next low gust of wind would catch him up and hurl him out to sea. The tall man had a grip of iron on his servant’s forearm, and was pulling him firmly through the gate and under the branches of the tree. The servant walked steadily, not struggling, but cringing and dragging at his heels as though every step caused him pain. The second they had passed under the rowan, fat starling still crowing its disapproval, he straightened and smoothed out his features into watchful disinterest, gaze rooted at his master’s feet.

_ Fae. _

The rich man turned back to murmur something to the little creature, and then brushed past Alexander and into the church without even a murmur of apology.

Alexander scowled after him. “What a prick,” he said aloud.

The fae started and tilted his head towards Alexander, gaze still rooted on the floor. Accustomed to humans, then, despite his obvious discomfort at the proximity of the church. Wild fae usually forgot how easily humans could become trapped under their stares. The little fae said nothing.

“Your master, I mean,” Alexander added. “Are you quite recovered?”

The fae shook his head, hard. “I’m sure Mr Jefferson was simply in a hurry to get to worship, sir,” he said quietly, and without the distinct brogue Alexander had come to expect of the area.

“And I’m sure he has much to pray forgiveness for,” Alexander said. There were bruises scattered over the fae’s dark skin, peeping out from beneath each edge and seam of his thin coat, turning from purple to black as the clouds blocked out the shallow sunbeams falling on the church.

The fae made no reply, but turned away with a polite nod and approached the stone wall shielding the churchyard from the sudden drop of the cliff’s edge. He rested against it, staring out at the crashing tumult of the ocean beyond.

Alexander stepped over to join him. “What do I call you?”

The fae leaned incrementally away from him, dark eyes still rooted on the horizon. “Aaron.”

“Alexander Hamilton.” He extended a hand, which Aaron shook as cautiously as he might an untested box of gunpowder. “At your service.”

“Sir,” Aaron replied lightly.

“I’m afraid I’m a visitor to this land,” he continued. “I don’t recognise you for whatever manner of fae you are?”

“Selkie, sir.”

“I’ve not heard of such a thing before. I assume from your obvious fixation that you are a creature of the sea, of course, though your position indicates more some manner of household spirit--”

“The sea,” Aaron interrupted, cringing even as the first syllable pushed out of him as if in expectation of a blow. “I am a creature of the sea, not of human households.”

Alexander laughed, delighted at this first show of personality. “There you are!”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Aaron uncurled a little, turning back to stare out at the roaring sea.

Alexander followed his gaze. “I take it that your master is from America?”

“Yes, sir. He intends to return soon, has work awaiting him.” Despite Aaron’s rigid posture, Alexander could see misery dripping from his edges.

He frowned. “You don’t wish to see a newborn nation? My— I intend to return soon, and I couldn’t begin to convey my excitement at the prospect.”

“I’ve said nothing of the sort,” Aaron said quietly.

Alexander cocked an eyebrow of disbelief.

Aaron wilted a little. “I am a little frightened. To be so far from my skin. I don’t believe my master intends to transport it with us.”

Knowing better than to question the workings of the fae, even without the least idea what he was talking about, Alexander took pity on the creature. He looked so  _ helpless _ , staring out over the cliff’s edge with bottomless, inhumanly wide black eyes. Alexander rested a hand, feather-light, on his shoulder and watched as the selkie leaned desperately into his touch.

“I’ll be staying in the village until I return to New York,” he said quietly. “If your master mistreats you, call upon me. Alexander Hamilton. There will be something I can do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my beta, Thomas Jefferson actually once met an ambassador in his pyjamas, and mortally offended him, causing an international incident. However, the purple-velvet-and-gold-cane Jefferson we meet in the play probably dressed like that 24/7, I wouldn't be shocked if he had gold brocade sleepwear. So, historical inaccuracy right there.


	5. Garden Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A check in with the Jefferson household, before we see a plan to save Lafayette beginning to emerge. He needs it.

Aaron scurried in from the garden, struggling with the weight of two large buckets. Mr Jefferson had not been best pleased at having to explain the workings of drawing a bath to him, and was now quite impatient.

It hadn’t been in any of the books. Aaron had scrambled to work at twice his usual pace to atone for the error regardless.

At least fetching the water meant he was allowed in the garden now. Aaron didn’t dare linger, but breathed a little easier with the taste of salt in the air and the fresh breeze lashing at his skin. He could hear the little creatures and forest fae lingering in the bushes around the lawn.

Mr Jefferson would probably not be best pleased to see him speak with them, but Aaron could never quite resist the chance to speak with his kin before he was parted from them. As he reached the fire, he could see the last two buckets already coming to the boil. Gingerly, he grasped the wooden handles and pulled them from the flames, leaving the two he had just brought in in their stead. Carried the hot water through to the waiting tub, bringing it up to two-thirds full.

He slipped out to collect Mr Jefferson from the study. He was sitting at his desk, still engrossed in his reading.

“Mr Jefferson, sir?”

“Yes?” Mr Jefferson turned to look at Aaron, hovering in the doorway. Nodded, as if he had seen something to his liking.

Aaron dipped his head nervously. “Your bath is ready, sir.”

“At last,” Mr Jefferson said, standing. He brushed himself down a little and pushed past Aaron into the hall, ignoring Aaron’s stumble as he pulled the study door shut.  Before either of them could step down onto the stairs, Mr Jefferson stopped and turned back to Aaron. The human reached out and cupped Aaron’s cheek, tilting his heap up as if searching for something in his face.

He had been doing this for days now. The long, slow touches. Aaron steadied his breathing, willed himself to be pliant under Mr Jefferson’s touch. Didn’t flinch as the hand pushed up over his face, thumb brushing his eyes closed. He kept them that way as Mr Jefferson stroked down his jawline to rest in a light grip on his throat that made only the softest threat of violence.

Aaron counted his breath on a slow, steady rhythm. Listened for the rustle of clothing that would betray Mr Jefferson’s next movement. Heard only the other man’s breathing, heavier than his own but relaxed and steady.

“Good boy,” Mr Jefferson said after a long moment. Patted Aaron’s cheek to let him know to open his eyes. “Come along.”

Aaron followed him quickly down the stairs and to the bath. Mr Jefferson leaned forwards to trail his fingertips through the water.

“That’s good. Very good.” His soothing tone made Aaron cringe as the human beckoned him closer. “You may undress me.”

Aaron swallowed soundlessly. The morning Mr Jefferson had asked to be dressed had been an ordeal of trembling fingers fumbling clasps and punishment after punishment for his constant flinching. When the punishments halted, he had hoped that it might be an end to such tasks.

Mr Jefferson was waiting. Aaron reached up for his lapels and eased back his jacket, willing his fingers steady. Kept going. Eventually, Mr Jefferson was ready to step into the bath.

A hand swept gently over Aaron’s scalp, rubbing softly. “Good boy. That was hard for you, Aaron, good boy. Why don’t you go and fetch a little more hot water?”

“Yes, sir.” Still clutching Mr Jefferson’s clothes, Aaron skittered away into the kitchen. With the window open, he could already hear the soothing chatter of the fae in the garden.

***

Alexander was lying on the bed, leafing through the book he had acquired from the landlady, when Laurens burst in.

“Alexander,” he said, breathless. Almost pleading.

Alexander was up and at his side in an instant, arms up around his shoulders. “Laurens? What is it?”

“It’s Lafayette,” John said. “Alexander, Lafayette, he’s in Scotland.”

“Then what’s wrong? Is he in danger?”

John made no sound, but Alexander could feel his chest heave under his embrace. “He’s gone missing from the road, Alexander. He was due to meet a friend, but they think he strayed from the path. Met a wild fae.”

“Is he dead?”

“We don’t know. They found no sign.”

Alexander stepped back to the bed, sat, tugged Laurens down into his lap. “We’ll fix it. We’ll save him. I promise, John.”

John whined, pressing into Alexander desperately. Alexander pulled the letter from his hands. Tossed both it and the book aside, pulling John up onto the bed where he could hold him. Stroked John’s hair.

“What did they say, love?” he murmured.

John squirmed even closer into his embrace. “There’s some fae snatching travellers that stray on that road for a while now. Noone who’s gone out to catch it has found hide nor hair of it.”

“Then we shall go ourselves. We’ve enough time before we need return.” Alexander could feel John trembling against his chest. Perhaps even if he had not loved Lafayette with as fierce a passion as his John, he might have taken any amount of foolish risks to put an end to his shaking. In a few minutes, John would be upright and impassioned, ready to fight an army single-handed to rescue their friend. But for these few moments, their heartbeats pressed together and echoing one another, Alexander could feel his own shattering.

“How?” John asked, breath fluttering hot against his collarbone.

Reaching back, Alexander could feel the book of Scottish fairy tales under his fingertips. “I can think of someone who might help. We don’t know the local fae. I’ve been rectifying that.”

John’s thumping heart was slowing, his breath steadying. “We’ll find Lafayette.”

“We’ll find Lafayette.”

Spell broken, Laurens sat bolt upright. Alexander mourned the loss of contact. “What’s your plan?”

“I think we must speak to the landlady. Do you know that there is another American in town? It would be remiss of us not to enquire after his properties.”

Laurens blinked at him, confused but trusting. “Come along then!”

Alexander resisted, laughing, as Laurens tried to pull him up off the bed. Twisted so that Laurens was caught between his legs. “Must I stand? I could become entirely accustomed to this arrangement…”

“Alexander,” John chided. “Our friend needs us.”

Alexander stood. “Very well, my love. We have a treasure hunt that must be completed before Church on Sunday.”

John, who knew full well how much Alexander resented his lengthy stays at the Church these last few weeks, regarded him with thinly-veiled disbelief. But they both knew equally how impossible it might be to come between Alexander and his goals.

“Come along, my dear. It is long past time that our friend the Marquis was rescued.”

***

He could no longer feel his hands. The blood loss had made him weak and woozy. The fresh cuts no longer drew any new pain, as if his skin had simply grown too tired and weak to cringe away from the cold blade. 

Some sounds seemed far too loud. He could hear the every tapping step of the spiders that skittered over his bare skin and the stone walls. Every drop of blood splashing into the lake was as loud as a tidal wave crashing over him. 

Others in turn were far too quiet. Whether it was magic or madness, he never heard Cap-O’-Dufftown’s approaching footsteps any longer. The heat and carnal stench of his breath was the only warning before a fresh cut. 

When the water jug was pressed to his lips, he murmured feverish thanks through the stream even as he spluttered and choked and drowned on the words. 

The first time that Cap-O’-Dufftown had had to change his bonds, when his wrists had grown thin enough to slip through the knots, Gilbert had felt sure for the first time that he would die in this cavern. Precious few knew where he was, and none of them would have the means to rescue him. With chill despair gnawing and the edges of his soul, longing for his friends fluttered helplessly against his ribs, in the little cage where hope had once lived. And blood trickled slowly down his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought Jefferson was gross and creepy when he was beating Aaron around, look how creepy and gross he is when he's being kind of nice. Eew. I need some bleach I'm gonna drink it.
> 
> Since this was so short, I'm considering posting the next one early, but it would mess with my buffer. What do you think?


	6. Thieves by Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander's plan rolls into action.

“This _is_ the right office, you’re quite sure?” John asked, huffing slightly as he hefted Alexander’s scant weight up onto his shoulders. “I would hate to cause an embarrassment.”

“And if it is the correct office, there will be none?” Alexander asked, and then groaned as he managed to slide in through the window.

The stars peeped out from behind the greying haze in the sky above. John’s breath hung crystalline before him in the air, so still and icy that the chill seemed to seep and soak into his shaking bones.

To his side, the door clicked and swung open. Alexander’s worried face peered around the edge. “John?”

He looked so sure of himself, that John hadn’t even a quarter of the strength required not to grip him by the shoulders and push him back into the office as their lips crashed together.

They parted, panting. Alexander shook his head and ran his fingers roughly through his hair, still gazing into John’s eyes. “Now? Really?”

“Perhaps I fancy myself a ruffian for a lover,” he said. Turned to assess the cramped cabin space. “Have you any idea where it is?”

Alexander shook his head. “We’ll have to search by hand. And leave not a single thing out of order, he mustn’t know we came calling.”

“I know, love.” John turned away to start searching the walls for hidden compartments, listening out for approaching footsteps over the sound of Alexander rummaging through the man’s bookshelf.

His foot struck something hard. “Alexander!”

They crouched together, pulling up the carpet to reveal a solid slab of iron.

“Clever,” John murmured, fingering its edge. “The fae couldn’t move this.”

Alexander huffed a little. “Clever isn’t the word I should use.”

“You really do like him?” John asked, staring.

Alexander didn’t even look up, adjusting his grip to try and get enough leverage to lift the slab. “I like him a lot. He seems clever. Kind. Helpful. We spoke about all manner of things whilst you were in the church. But it should matter little that I like him. He can help us save Lafayette, and I’m quite sure he will, once free of that brute.”

“All manner of things?” John’s heart panged, hot and sharp, as he moved almost without realising to help Alexander manage the weight. Watched his lover’s slender hand dart under to snatch up the dappled coat of fur. “Then I suppose I shall have to meet him for myself.”

***

Thomas’ tea was piping hot and sweet, with just a dash of lemon juice, just as he preferred it. He took a long, slow sip, letting the selkie wait a moment for his dismissal. Watching him.

Felt over the light snack he had called for without looking away, noting the perfect rounded slivers and dry, crisp texture. Better.

Aaron stood with his arms tucked neatly behind his back, patiently awaiting Thomas’ words. The longer he went without hearing them, the more Thomas could see his gaze slipping up from the floorboards, catching on the window panes for a brief moment before falling once more.

Thomas set his teacup down with a quiet clink. Aaron flinched.

“None of that,” he chided.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“And don’t frown like that, you look like a wild fae.”

The boy’s expression smoothened seamlessly into his preferred mask of neutral servility, though he made no attempt to apologise for his sourness. Thomas permitted it without comment, simply continuing to watch.

“You seem rather unhappy to pack away your things,” he said instead. “Have you grown fond of them?”

Aaron hesitated. “Of course, I am grateful for your hospitality, sir.”

“I never doubted it.” Thomas was aware of a note of anger seeping into his tone, though he was little inclined to strike the selkie just yet. Not after he had made such progress so quickly in these last few days. His cringing and flinching had come to an abrupt end when he realised that Thomas would not allow such pretences to keep him from doing his duties. They would be returning to America soon, and he had little desire for his companion’s company to be seen as anything less than charming. “But that is not what I asked.”

“It was not a matter of missing anything I have now, sir. I simply feared what might come next.”

Thomas laughed, reached up a hand to cup Aaron’s cheek lightly, lulling him to calmness. “You needn’t fear, little Burr. I can promise you will be under my protection the entire time. You will find my home very comfortable.”

“Of course, sir,” Aaron murmured as soon as Jefferson’s hand was pulled away.

“Or is it my protection that you fear?” he asked, tone low.

Aaron had learnt better than to freeze when Thomas wanted a reply. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Thomas struck the selkie hard enough to leave it stumbling, hand reaching out as if to grab onto Thomas before remembering its place and catching itself on the desk. The impact jarred a tiny splash of tea out onto the saucer. Thomas tutted. “Now, see what you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Aaron said, straightening. “Would you like me to fetch you another?”

“No, Aaron, I would not like you to run off to the kitchen where you can dally and avoid me, I would like you to be _completely honest_ with me.” He waited a moment for Aaron to regain his decorum. “What exactly do you fear about coming to America?”

“I--”

“Do you think me a brute?” Thomas flexed his aching knuckles briefly before reaching up to cup Aaron’s jaw again, watching the trance-like stillness fall over him. “I think you know better by now than to fear unkind treatment from me, do you not?”

“You have been nothing but fair,” Aaron admitted. Leaned greedily into Thomas’ touch, hoping for the reward of Thomas’ gentle hand on his scalp. “It--”

“Are you shirking from the work? I understand that such an estate can be daunting, but I should think you more than capable by now. Which I imagine leaves but one thing for you to fear.” He sighed, withdrew his hand in disappointment. “It was never going to be returned to you, you must know.”

“I was never going to go looking for my skin,” Aaron protested, his insolence earning him a slap. He cringed a little from the blow, but hurried to amend his words. “Sir, I only meant that- I’ll be good. I swear, I won’t go looking for it. I’ll be good. Please bring the skin with us.”

He hadn’t asked Thomas for anything else. It was almost enough for him consider the offer. But the selkie could not be trusted. “I’ve no reason to believe you’ll suffer from the separation any more than you have before now,” he assured.

“Yes, sir.” Aaron’s voice was deadened and broken. Pity panged in Thomas’ heart.

He clasped the selkie’s hands easily in his bigger ones. “I swear to you that the moment I believe you to have fallen ill from the lack of it, I shall have the skin brought to your bedside as quickly as can be couriered by man or fae,” he swore.

“Sir?” Aaron’s gaze jumped up, finding its mark somewhere by Thomas’ lips. He permitted it.

“I am not a cruel man, little Burr. As long as you are loyal to me, I shall provide your care to the utmost of my ability.” Thomas pushed his tray away. “Now put such foolish fears out of your head and fetch me a fresh cup. This one has gone quite cold.”

Aaron scurried out of the room obediently, and returned some ten minutes later. The second cup, Thomas felt absolutely certain, seemed to have been made with more care. He took a sip, and dismissed Aaron with a brief word of praise.

***

That Sunday, a mere day later, John didn’t stray into the church and leave his lover outside to wait, but slouched back against the low churchyard wall, stiff and sore from their brief stint criminal enterprises.  Alexander leaned against him, a bag slung loosely under his arm, watching the gate with worrying intensity.

Cautious of vicious onlookers, John inhaled the clean, earthy scent of Alexander’s hair mingling with fresh salt breeze that bit at his chapped lips. Seabirds pinwheeled over the shoreline.

Under him, Alexander stiffened. John’s head whipped over to the gates, tugging Alexander a little tighter into his side. The two men who had caught Alex’s gaze approached along the winding clifftop path, and slowed suddenly as they reached the shadows of the rowan tree. The master wrapped an arm easily around the little fae’s shoulders, ushering him forwards as he stiffened under the tree’s power.

John watched the creature lean incrementally into its master’s side and felt his own lip curl in distaste. The two separated, the human striding forwards into the church and leaving the fae alone between the wind-battered graves.

Pushing up from John’s side, Alexander called out and beckoned the creature over. It approached with scurrying haste, a sharp little smile emerging in the corners of its lips.

“Mr Hamilton?”

Alexander shook the selkie’s hand briskly and turned towards John. “John, this is Aaron. Aaron, my dearest companion, Mr John Laurens.”

Aaron bowed politely in greeting, gaze captured by the horizon past John’s shoulders. Said nothing.

“Please to meet you,” John said eventually.

“And I you, sir,” Aaron replied in a quiet, measured voice.

Alexander clapped a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’ve been telling John all about our conversation last week, and wondered if you might pass a little time with us whilst your master is in the church.”

“Of course, sir.”

John circled around to block Aaron from the churchgoers’ view. The selkie remained perfectly still, not turning to track John’s movements even the slightest amount.

“The matter is, Aaron, I need your help,” Alexander said, low and earnest. “I know we’ve only a brief acquaintance, but I should like to think that we were fast friends?”

Aaron dipped his head in acquiescence. “You were very kind to me, sir.”

“And now he needs you to return the favour,” John explained. “Our friend is missing. And we do not know the fae of these lands.”

“I…” Aaron broke posture for the for the first time, glancing hurriedly between John and Alexander with fearful black eyes. “My master would never allow me. I apologise, sirs, but if you require something of me you must take it up with him.”

Alexander’s self-assured smile crept across his lips, the slow, toothy one that was all pride and no pleasure, curling his top lip up to reveal a sharp canine tooth. “Must we?”

Stillness fell over the little fae, like snow settling on a silent moorland. “You have my skin.”

“We have your skin,” John confirmed coldly. “And you _will_ help us find our friend.”

“Help us, and it’s yours,” Alexander promised.

The selkie turned back towards John again, peering around him to the little stone church. Then stepped back so that he could keep both John and Alexander in his field of vision. “Of course I’ll help you, sirs.”

In the easy coordination of long practise, the two men each slung a shoulder around Aaron’s slight frame, and dragged him back under the branches of the old rowan tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter!! I might regret this when I get no writing done over the next week, but I'll deal. Comments much appreciated! ;)


	7. Horse and Carriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two revolutionaries and a selkie walk into a bar...

The carriage clattered and rolled over the Scottish roads at a terrifying pace, jerks and jolts shuddering up John's spine. He pulled Alexander's slighter frame into his lap, watching the little fae opposite them for a flash of disgust. 

Aaron's gaze stayed rooted on the floor of the coach, head bowed and hands folded in his lap. Pressed close like this, John was sure he could feel Alexander's discomfort seeping through their skins. Alexander hated silence. 

"Have you any idea what might have taken our friend?" he asked. 

Aaron lifted his chin to face them, moved nothing else. "There are many fae that leave no trace in these parts, sir."

"I should have thought you'd given the matter a little more thought that that by now," John said, jaw set. 

Aaron's head bowed a little more, shoulders curling inwards in tiny fractious twitches. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Tell us a little," Alexander said, leaning forwards. John could almost see  his face, plastered with his most engaging grin as he tried to pry the little fae into a conversation. 

"If your friend is of noble blood, sir, the most obvious solution is that he was taken into service by a court fae," the selkie said immediately, his tone level. "If that is the case, sir, I- I can advise, but I cannot say for sure that he can be reclaimed. Court fae don't like to be bested by humans."

"Do any?" John asked. Aaron's shoulders hunched a little tighter.

Without looking, Alexander reached back to swat at his thigh. "Go on."

"If your friend said that there was blood found--"

"In a castle on the way, yes."

Aaron nodded jerkily. "Yes, thank you, sir. My assumption would have been a redcap, in a ruin, but I have never heard of one so far North as that. A black dog might be the most obvious choice, but they would usually leave-- more than blood. Sir."

Alexander hissed through his teeth as John pulled him back into his arms, clutching perhaps a little tighter than was necessary to protect him from the bumping. 

"I'm sorry, sir," the selkie said. Glanced up at them, as John waved for him to continue. "A kelpie  might stray such a distance, but they would not leave blood, sir, nor would any kind of hag. I-- I don't know of anything else that hunts so far from water, sir."

"And do you know how to deal with any of these, should you be correct?" Alexander asked. 

Aaron nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. They're the same as all fae in these lands, sir. Weakest to the bite of iron."

"We are armed with iron," John confirmed. 

The selkie seemed to wilt a little at his words, too slight a movement for him to be entirely sure of what he had seen. John's jaw set. If the little fae tried to slip away before Lafayette was safe, he could only hope that the bite of iron was John’s first choice of attack. 

***

Alexander turned back from the bar and sought out the table where he had left John and Aaron. They were waiting in silence, John toying disinterestedly with his shirtsleeve and Aaron sitting perfectly upright, balanced just on the edge of the chair where Alexander had pushed him, laughing, when he had hesitated to sit. 

Alexander joined them, and turned away almost instantly to see if the barmaid was coming after him with their drinks. It had perhaps been a mistake to bring the fae along, but damn him if he had been able to find a single better idea. 

"My love?" John murmured, barely quiet enough to be discrete. "All well?"

"What if we're too late?" Alexander asked, instead of why do you hate him why does he hate us why can't I fix is because all of that could wait. 

John sighed. "We aren't. We have a plan, do we not? And when have your plans ever failed?"

"This is not a clever new strategy in the war, John." Alexander shook his head, his eyes falling upon Aaron's frame, half-hidden in shadows and so still as to be almost invisible. "This is one of the most reckless decisions I've made--"

"In the last week?" John suggested. 

Before Alexander could do more than scowl in affront, his face was brought slack by the brush of John's foot up his leg. Just as he was readjusting his reaction to this development, the barmaid appeared with not only their drinks, but a large platter of sandwiches. 

"This is the best the kitchen can do, so late at night," she apologised. 

Alexander, perhaps a little more annoyed that John's feet had somehow ended up resting motionless in his lap than he was willing to admit, took her hand and kissed it lightly. "Any meal would pale in comparison to your beauty," he promised, smiling. 

"And any man would charm a woman who brought him his first meal in a full day," John muttered. 

The girl laughed him off and slipped back into the recesses of the bar with its few bedraggled patrons. Not looking up at John, Alexander tore into a cooled beef sandwich. 

For all that he wasn't looking, he could see John picking delicately at another, pulling it apart with his fingers before slipping each tiny sliver onto his tongue. Aaron was yet to move.

"This is all we have until morning," Alexander warned him. 

Aaron blinked slowly, gaze resting somewhere around Alexander's lips. "Yes, sir?"

"He means eat," John added, irritably. He always gor crabby after a long coach ride. 

Annoyance forgotten, Alexander dropped his free hand into his lap to rub lightly at John's ankle, coaxing a soft laugh from him. 

Aaron reached a hand slowly forwards and took one of the sandwiches for himself, taking a cautious bite out of the corner. He swallowed, slowly, and then slid back in his chair, apparently assured that his food was not filled with broken glass. 

"We're only minutes away from where we believe Lafayette was taken," John murmured. 

"It's far too dark to make any headway," Alexander insisted. "And if we must fight tomorrow, we will do better well fed and well rested."

Alexander made sure that John had eaten enough. John made sure Alexander had eaten enough. Aaron sat like a silent shadow, watching the both of them like a cornered animal until they retired to their room for the night. 

Suddenly conscious of the selkie's gaze on them, Alexander batted John's hands away from his lapels and turned sharply. Aaron lingered still by the door. He had his hands tucked neatly behind his back and his dark eyes averted. The candlelight played gently on his dark skin. 

"Do you not sleep?" Alexander asked. Ignored John's whine at having to direct his attention elsewhere.

The selkie started, straightening somehow even further. "I sleep, sir."

"Then please, take the bed by the window. I've seen how you love to watch the sky." Alexander pushed John back onto the other bed. 

"I'm grateful that you would take note of such a thing, sir," Aaron said, a touch slower than his usual speech. Alexander watched, ignoring the neglected sounds John made low in his throat, as Aaron stripped out of his clothing and curled up, tight as a spring, at the foot of the bed, on top of the covers. 

"You don't want the blankets?" Alexander asked. 

"Alexander, really?" John complained. 

Aaron blinked at them both. "The blankets?"

"There's no fire in the grate, Aaron, you'll be ice before morning." 

"Bu--" Aaron cut himself off abruptly and folded the blankets back so that he was nested in them, snuggling down like a badger pushing into its set. "Thank you, sir."

Alexander almost spoke again, but before he could produce a syllable John's mouth was on his.

***

_ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _

He could barely string together a thought. The darkness seemed to seep in through his skin and mak its nests in his bones, icy cold and twisted with despair. 

The cuts on his skin seemed to crawl and skitter over his limbs. Something slithered over his ankles. The iron tanged stench of his own blood crawled up his nose and sank, heavy, into his feverish dreams. The silence pounded ceaselessly against his ears, it grew and stretched and coiled and flowed through his every muscle and tendon--

It broke. There was shouting, clashing. A chink of light in the darkness scored white-hot scalds across his eyes. 

"Lafayette!"

His name. He stirred weakly, then flinched at the clink and clash of chains it caused. 

"Lafayette!"

Warm hands freeing his cold wrists. Adrenaline-spiked breath huffing on his neck as he failed to support his own weight and fell, draped over his rescuers. 

"Lafayette, do you know us?"

"Give him a moment, Alexander, for--"

"Joh," Lafayette slurred. "Ayeh..."

His tongue tripped and stumbled, but this seemed not to matter, as delighted laughter bubbled up in the gloom. Alexander's hands swept up over his sides to fix him more surely over John's shoulder, and they carried him up into the light. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weird transition-y chapter.... thank you to my darling beta, who pointed out the word I had used was not in fact a word and commiserated about the pointlessness of the dating system. And yes, the sandwiches are historically accurate, though not exactly as you might imagine. Also!!!! I have Hamilton tickets!!!!!!! And Laf! Is! Safe!


	8. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes redcap hunting.

Gilbert blinked slowly, finding himself falling awake almost without realising it. He was buried in soft sheets, piled on a narrow bed. Sunlight streamed through the window across his chest. Moving in the slowest, most crawling of twitches, he sat upright a little and propped himself up against the wall.

Three figures swam into clarity before his eyes. Alexander. John.

“Je—” No, that was wrong. Before he could assemble himself sufficiently to try for English, his friends were up out of their seats and upon him.

“Lafayette,” John mumbled into his hair. He registered dimly Alexander rattling off an explanation of how they had come to save him. Held the two of them close against his chest with weak and unsteady arms. Felt tears seeping in through his ragged shirt, but found he had none of his own to spare.

Time must have passed, but it felt like not nearly enough before Hamilton and Laurens parted from him, John taking his place on the bed by Gilbert’s side as Alexander stood to pace agitatedly across the floorboards. His gaze fell upon the third figure— a stranger, standing at the foot of the other bed with his head bowed and his hands laced behind his back. His clothes were of fine make, but far too large and clearly ill-suited for the weather. His feet were bare. Fae.

Alexander caught his gaze. “Ah! You’ve not met Aaron!”

The fae didn’t twitch at the sound of his name. Coiled beside Gilbert, John let out a soft huff of breath.

“Aaron!” Alexander repeated.

Aaron raised his head attentively. Gilbert caught a glimpse of wine-dark eyes, trained on the floor by Alexander’s feet.

“Come,” Alexander urged. “Meet Gilbert. You ought to, after all you’ve done to help him.”

Aaron took a few steps and stopped a respectful distance from the bed and nodded politely. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“And yourself,” Gilbert said, brightly. The fae held himself very still as Gilbert made an attempt at his brightest smile. “Tell me, how did you come to rescue me?”

Aaron glanced at Alexander, who gestured him on exuberantly. “Mr Hamilton acquired me from my former— master, in order to ascertain what manner of fae you had happened upon, sir. I recognised the hallmarks, even so far from their usual territory.”

“He said that he had moved here because he would not be expected,” Gilbert murmured.

“They are more commonly found on the border with England,” Aaron confirmed, glancing with jittery nervousness between the three humans. “Sir.”

Gilbert smiled a little more sincerely. “And where do you come from, Aaron?”

“The ocean, sir.” Aaron’s tone was wistful, but turned sharp and abrupt as he hit the last word. A second later, almost if he had heard his own harsh tone, his shoulders hunched over in the beginnings of a cringe.

Alexander was watching the boy with a forlorn expression. Gilbert frowned.

“Aaron, run downstairs and fetch some food for Lafayette,” John said, before Gilbert could ask another question.

Aaron nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to also bring refreshments for yourself and Mr Hamilton, sir?”

“Yes,” Alexander interjected. “And for yourself, of course.”

“Yes, sir.” Walking soundlessly, Aaron slipped out of the room.

Alexander resumed his pacing. Lafayette’s hand found John’s on the bed. “Now,” he said, softly. “Tell me everything.”

“The redcap isn’t dead,” Alexander said, too quickly, his words clipping and clattering together with guilt.

“Not yet,” John added.

Gilbert was wordless, staring at his friends.

“I intend to go after him as soon as I know you to be recovering,” John promised, his grip on Gilbert’s hand tightening.

Gilbert nodded. “Thank you, John. For promising me that, and for coming to save me.”

“Of course we came,” Alexander said.

Laurens squeezed his hand lightly. Gilbert tipped lightly back into his sheets, warmth wrapping itself tightly around him.

“I’ve already written to your wife, and told her you happened upon us as you travelled.”

He nodded, then winced as the action made him dizzy. His eyes fell closed as someone ran gentle fingers through his hair, and slowly, hazily, he drifted back to sleep.

***

Alexander felt his lip twisting into a pout, and tried to force his features into a scowl. “You shouldn’t go.”

“I never thought I should hear Alexander Hamilton coaching me to caution.”

“I did not mean that as joke, John, and you knew it.”

John pushed himself up off the wall and turned to reenter Lafayette’s room, his smile falling. “I’m not arguing with you again, Alexander.”

“If you don’t wish to argue, listen to what I’m saying!” Alexander reached out, skin almost itching with anxiety, and snatched John’s wrist before he could open the door. “You should wait. I could come with you. We can leave Lafayette with Aaron--”

“No! If we wait for him to be well enough, the redcap’s trail will be long cold, Alexander. Do you not trust me?”

Alexander hissed out a breath through his teeth. “John, I love you. Why do you think I want to come with you?”

“But you  _ don’t _ trust me,” John finished.

“Of course I do!”

“Then why are you not letting me avenge our friend?”

“Lafayette is not dead! If he wants vengeance, he can seek it himself!” Alexander snapped.

John laughed, shaking him off after far too long. “He won’t. You’ve seen how he is. Sleeps fitfully. Watches the door and window. Even with the two of us guarding him, he doesn’t feel safe unless your Aaron is in the room, charging the protections!”

And that was untenable. Alexander shook his head. “John, please--”

John yanked open the door and stomped into the room before Alexander could say a word to convince him. Alexander sighed helplessly and pushed on after him. He had lost. Neither of them were willing to bicker in front of Lafayette, who could still barely cross the room from his bed to the window unassisted.

He was in bed now, sitting up against the headboard and staring with furrowed brow at John and Alexander standing by the door. There was a soft hiss and gentle thudding of wood and flame as Aaron tended the fire carefully.

“I’m leaving to go after the redcap,” John said, flatly.

“Already?” Lafayette asked.

“Well, only if you’re completely ready for him to go, of course, John’s perfectly willing to stay,” Alexander said, in one last-ditch flurry of effort. “We only want what’s best for you, Lafayette.”

He could feel John’s angry gaze turning on him, though he kept his own pinned on the bed. “I’m sure you’re well enough to wait here for me with Alexander,” he said. “And Aaron has told me all I need to know about redcaps.”

There was a clink of metal as Aaron started, turning away from the fire. “I’m not sure that’s entirely--”

“We wounded it with iron, it won’t be able to run at it’s normal speed. And will not have travelled far, either. We think it will most likely be heading for water, trying to beg transport back to the Wall from an ally. I can catch it by horse, I’m sure.”

“That’s hardly a plan--”

“Fortunately I’ve never cared any more for plans than you do, Alexander.” John shook his head decisively, and then turned to Lafayette with a touch of softness. “Will you let me go?”

Alexander could read Lafayette’s thoughts flicker across his mind as clearly as though they were written across his brows. Sunken eyes twitched back to the wreath Aaron had strung over the window for his protection.

For all his doe-eyed skittishness, Aaron seemed fond of Lafayette. Had taken to sharing his bed whilst John and Alexander took the other between them, curled up against Lafayette’s legs and waking Lafayette gently whenever nightmares shook his sleep. Alexander’s fingers twitched into a fist. Since leaving the little fishing village on the coast, Aaron had been nothing but well-mannered and servile towards him. Well-mannered, servile, and dull as a brick. Whenever Alexander left the room, however, he would return to the sounds of the selkie’s hushed voice and Lafayette’s laughter. Would open the door and see Lafayette sitting up with one arm stretched out so that Aaron could nuzzle lightly into his touch. When Alexander got within arms reach, Aaron went stock-still and dipped his head in anticipation of a blow. He reached for John’s hand and found it slipping from his grasp.

John crossed the room and dipped to kiss Lafayette’s brow. Then he snatched up his bag and strode out through the door, clipping Alexander hard on the shoulder as he passed.

Alexander’s shoulders fell in wilting disappointment.

“Alexander?” Lafayette asked. Worried brown eyes peering clean through his soul.

Alexander pulled himself together. “Do you need anything, dear?”

“Dear?” Lafayette cocked a brow. “You are upset.”

Alexander sighed. “No matter. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m quite sure.” Lafayette petted his bedsheets. “Come here, little lion. Sit by me.”

His flop down onto the bed felt unnaturally heavy, but Lafayette’s presence against his side was firm and warm. There was silence, broken only by their breathing as they burrowed into one another’s arms.

“He’s going straight after it,” Alexander murmured. “He should be back by morning.”

Silence broken by a soft, flat voice. “Sir?”

Alexander’s eyes snapped open. Aaron was standing just within reach of the bed, his hands laced behind his back. When Alexander looked a little closer, he could hear the boy’s breath stuttering. “What is it?”

“Sir, I don’t— I— is Mr Laurens going after the redcap— and whatever allies he might have—is he going tonight?”

For half a heartbeat, Aaron met Alexander’s eyes, even cringing and shrinking back as he did. That, more than anything else, made him jolt upright. “Why?” He asked.

“But I—I swear, sir, I told him, I didn’t--”

Alexander shoved out of the bed, forgetting Lafayette, barely restraining himself from laying hands on Aaron. “Told him  _ what? _ ”

“It’s Samhain,” Aaron whispered, not taking even half a step back. “All the Unseelie fae in the lands will be out to revel, Mr Laurens won’t--”

He broke off as Alexander snatched up his coat and pushed towards the door. “Lafayette--”

“Go!”

Alexander gripped Aaron’s shoulder and hauled him out of the inn and into the woods parting them from Cap-O’-Dufftown’s castle before barking an order to go and search for John. Terror thumping against his ribcage, he took off in the opposite direction.

***

Aaron forced himself not to be distracted by the sounds of the rushing stream, hunting out any sign of Mr Laurens’ passing. Fae rushed about him through the woods, dancing and twirling, high on the energy of the night.

Behind him, a twig snapped. He whipped around. A half-second of panic juttered by before he recognised Hamilton.

“Hamilton, I’m so--” Aaron fell completely silent as Hamilton stepped into clear view, hands full. He stood frozen, watching his skin, taut in Hamilton’s grasp.

Alexander stared at him, eyes cold and hard. “Tell me you could have stopped this.”

Throat tight as a noose, terror forced Aaron to idiotic obedience. “I could have stopped this,” he croaked.

“Why did you let this happen?” Hamilton shook the skin viciously as Aaron’s frame hunkered down in a desperate cringe. “Why did he have to--”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered, wincing at his own interruption, certain that Hamilton’s anger would be far more cruel if he were forced to say it aloud. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, if I’d known I swear I would have--”

“That’s not good enough!” Hamilton surged forwards, fists clenched. Aaron froze and bowed his head in meek anticipation of the first blow.

It failed to arrive.

After a cool, stretching moment, he glanced up to see Hamilton standing half the distance from him he had before, fists still clenched, but watching Aaron with almost regretful consideration.

“Get out of the way,” he said eventually.

Aaron scrambled aside, glancing back as Hamilton held the skin up against the tree Aaron had been pressed to. From his bag, Alexander withdrew a sturdy hammer and nail. He ignored Aaron’s shocky, stuttering breath, too frightened even to beg, and pushed the nail home.

Turned back to the selkie. “I’ve kept my end of the deal. You’ve kept yours. Prying that loose should take you long enough for us to get back to the harbour and onto our ship. Then you can get back to your place in the world, and I to mine. Consider our acquaintance terminated.”

“Mr Hamilton,” Aaron said, his tone perfectly measured. Accepting.

A muscle in Alexander's jaw twitched as if clenching shut over his response, and he walked away towards the village.

Aaron waited until his footsteps had faded from earshot before even attempting to approach the skin. He reached out to try and grasp the nail, and then yanked his arm back in horror.

The skin of his fingers was blistering and raw already. Cold iron. 

Aaron yanked off his ragged shirt and wrapped it around his hands. Tried again. 

Ice-hot pain stabbed into his fingertips. He jerked back, whimpering. 

And then tried again. And again. And again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I had to do it and now everyone hates me. 
> 
> Also, I've got a super long essay to write so if you could comment and help me procrastinate that would be great. I am dead inside.


	9. Fairy Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ramifications of Alexander's actions become apparent, and Aaron does the best he can with what he has to hand.

The night, the dawn, even the midday sun had long since passed. Aaron had fallen back against the tree with his knees drawn up to his chin, mind working furiously. The only fae he knew that could have touched the iron were the piskies, too far south to help, or maybe some tame household thing that would never leave its master’s side to come to his aid—

Oh. A soft breath hissed out through his teeth. There was always seeking human aid. If he could bring himself to risk parting from the skin just long enough to run back towards the inn, could make any promises he needed to to get it back.

But no. He couldn’t know for sure. They had seemed kind. But he couldn’t know. Hamilton had seemed kind. His friend the Marquis, inestimably so. And they were on a ship bound for American shores whilst Aaron nursed his bloodied fingertips.

And Mr Jefferson would be arriving at the inn today.

Aaron was not stupid. Not even half-savage and witless in the way  so many humans seemed to expect of him. He had seen Laurens’ drunken complaining in the inn. And then, later, when the man lay upstairs with Hamilton, seen the scraps of paper slipped to hungry messengers. Even travelling at half the speed of the carriage Aaron had been brought in, Mr Jefferson must be at the inn by now. Aaron need only seek out an ally.

He looked up at the leaves of the tree for the first time, his brow furrowing. There had been a flash of fur, earlier, ignored. A curl of mewling laughter. He hadn’t seen it rush back down.

 _There_.

“Cat!” he called up, tasting the old tongue for the first time since losing his skin. “Cat, will you come down?”

There wasn’t even a hint of movement. A few breaths’ space, and then, “Why should I?”

“I’ve a message for your masters!”

“Masters?” There was an irate hiss, as though Aaron had set a wild dog loose amongst the branches. A black cat, standing as high as his shoulder, its chest marked with a splash of white, landed in front of him, claws and teeth bared. “I have no masters, little seal. Unlike _some_.”

Uninterested in a farce of offense, Aaron bowed deeply to the king of cats. “I apologise.”

“You should.” Old Tom sat back a little and licked a rusty dark stain off one of his claws.

“I thank you for answering my call.”

“Well, I do tire of hearing you wail and sob.”

“And for that too, I apologise,” said Aaron, who hadn’t made a sound between his last stuttering plea to Hamilton and his first entreaty to the wildcat in the branches. Thinking again of Mr Jefferson, he let his breath hitch minutely, as if in fear.

The cat settled comfortably and narrowed its eyes in pleasure. “What message did you have for me?”

“Sir,” Aaron murmured, not letting the least scrap of pride slip past his expression of lowly awe. Perhaps a little real awe was beginning to build underneath, though not at the presence of Old Tom. Quite contrary to all the expectations Aaron had of his own plans, this one was working. “As you see, I am helpless. My skin is--”

“Yes. I saw. Go on.”

He bowed a little. “Yes, sir. There is a human looking for me. I believe he is in the tavern at the edge of these woods already. He could save my skin. And he would, I believe, though I don’t imagine he would return it to me for--”

“And how, exactly, does this concern me?”

 _Cats_. “I’ve an idea of what you might wish as payment. I’ve been amongst humans for long enough to pass under a rowan, now, little as I like it.”

 A flick of a black-furred ear. “A churchyard rowan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you would do this?” Amber eyes regarded Aaron, cold and cruel.

He nodded. “I could, sir, if I were free from human bonds. Naturally, if I had a human master I could do nothing of the sort.”

Old Tom’s gaze met Aaron’s, and his tail began to whip back and forth in excitement at the prospect of a fresh churchyard to conquer. “Tell me, little seal. What exactly do you need?”

***

Lafayette regarded Alexander as he paced across the little wooden room, spitting curses and justifications. His tears had dried as night crept by, drained out into Gilbert’s chest as they pressed tightly together on the cot, soothed by the boat’s slow rocking.

Gilbert twisted the little sprig of red berries and herbs between his knuckles. Closed his eyes, and could almost see Aaron braiding them together with quick, clever fingers and pressing the charm into Lafayette’s hands. The tips of his teeth digging into his lip as his eyes darted, birdlike, about the room.

Alexander broke off, turning to him, all wide eyes and shaking limbs. “Lafayette?”

“What would you have me say, Alexander?” Gilbert shook his head. “That you were not cruel? You were. That our friend--  and he _was_ our friend--  will not be harmed? He might. That I would have done the same? I can promise you, my dear, I would not.”

“Lafayette,” Alexander protested weakly. “He’s dead.”

Grief clawed afresh at Gilbert’s breast, fierce as a wildcat. “Our John is dead because he would not listen, would not wait. Because I did not make him. Not because a fae, who had little enough choice in the matter, did exactly as you asked of him.”

“You didn’t see it. The blood. The bones.” Alexander shuddered and retched, turning away. Gilbert pushed his knuckle into his lips to stifle a sob.

“And so you were angry,” he said, once his voice could be trusted. “And you took out your anger on a creature that you knew was helpless.”

“I killed the _thing_ that took him!”

“And then?”

Alexander shook his head, hard. “He would have come after us!”

“Would he?” Gilbert could feel his words landing heavily, one after another, like tombstones caught up in a hurricane falling back to earth. “I thought that he had made his desires quite clear. As much as he did anything.”

That might have been the last straw. Alexander’s shoulders hitched, he gave a quiet, choking, sob, and then he was pressed once more into Gilbert’s side, racked with grief and guilt. The tide of cool anger melted and lapped away, and Gilbert raised a hand to rub soothingly at his friend’s back.

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Alexander insisted, muffled by the roughness of Gilbert’s nightshirt. Scrambled and squirmed as if trying to climb deeper into the warmth of his friend's embrace and shut out the whole world. His soft hair brushed against Gilbert's chin. 

Gilbert sighed, cursed his own weakness, and absolved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's a day late, and unbeta'd because I didn't want to make it even later. However, I have a super exciting announcement: [FANART](http://here-butnothere.tumblr.com/post/156508365629/oops-i-did-some-fanart-of-pennylehane-s)! Thank you so much, Camber!
> 
> The King of Cats is a real folklore character, google him!
> 
> You might notice that the tags and chapter count have changed slightly- I haven't actually altered the plot, but with some of the reviews on the last couple of chapters I've decided to add a sort of extended epilogue to give a much less ambiguous ending. Thank you all for such great feedback!


	10. House Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Jefferson reappears to meet an Aaron Burr who isn't quite as he remembers him.

Thomas turned away from his drinking companion at the clack of the inn’s door. A slight figure darted in, and then hugged the wall on the way around to the stairs. He turned, casting his gaze over the bar’s patrons. Aaron froze.

A warm smile crept over Thomas’ cheeks. He beckoned. Aaron froze on the threshold of the stairs for a heartbeat, and then scurried forwards across the room before a second gesture became necessary. Thomas feigned interest in his cuff as the selkie reached his side, and then snapped an arm forwards to catch his wrist in a tight, bruising grip. The creature was shirtless for some ridiculous reason. He seemed to be alone. 

“Names,” he said, adjusting his arm so that he could hold Aaron in position comfortably.

“John Laurens,” Aaron said instantly.

Thomas waited. Nothing. He sighed in disappointment. “There was a second thief.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron bit his lip, looking away. Then, only a moment before Thomas would have reprimanded him— “Alexander Hamilton, sir.”

Thomas nodded. “Good boy. Now, what are you doing down here all on your own?”

“They aren’t here, sir.” There was a soft hitch in Aaron’s voice. Protectiveness growled low in Thomas’ gut.

“They left you to fend for yourself?” he demanded. “Where have they gone?”

Aaron nodded quickly. “Mr Laurens is dead, sir, and Mr Hamilton left for port.”

“He took your skin?” Thomas was careful not to tighten his grip on the boy’s wrist. He flinched regardless.

“No, sir. They left it for me, sir.”

Aaron gave away barely the slightest degree of emotion. Thomas peered down at him, feeling his brows knit together. “And you’re here because? I won’t flatter myself that you missed me.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Aaron said quickly, and unnecessarily. “I can’t get it, sir.”

“Explain yourself, boy.”

“Mr Hamilton nailed it to a tree, sir. With good quality iron, sir, I can’t touch it.” Slowly, as if not wanting to pull away from Thomas’ touch, Aaron turned his hand over. The fingertips were raw and blistered. Fascinated, Thomas couldn’t help but touch them, even as Aaron’s breathy hiss of pain hit the air.

“So that’s what it does,” he said, humming. Without releasing Aaron’s arm, he stood from the bar and placed a gentle hand on the small of the selkie’s back to guide him from the inn. “Come along then, boy, why don’t you bring me to your little skin and I’ll get it down for you, hmmm?”

Aaron cringed at his chiding tone. “Wait. Sir,  _ wait _ .”

“Yes?” Just as they stepped out into the chill Scottish air, both of Thomas’ hands tightened on Aaron. “Is something the matter, Aaron?”

“What comes next?”

Thomas frowned, nonplussed. “Explain yourself.”

***

Aaron’s heart ratcheted up to triple speeds. This hadn’t been the plan. This hadn’t been the plan, but when had any of his plans ever helped him, anyway? This had been supposed to be his backup plan, but better to stock it up now, surely. His fingers twitched in the tiniest show of anxiety.

“Sir. You’re leaving for America tomorrow. You intend to take me with you. I’m frightened.” It would be better if he could force a shade of emotion into his voice, but he couldn’t.

“I’ve been perfectly clear with what I want from you, Aaron.”

“No, you  _ haven’t _ !” Oh. There it was. Emotion. “I have no idea what you want! I still don’t know if you even intend to keep me, or sell me on for—”

“Quiet.”

“Just give me a damn answer!”

Thomas’ hand on his back pushed him forwards as the grip on his wrist twisted, driving Aaron’s elbow hard into his own stomach and twisting the skin tightly over his arm. “I said, quiet.”

“No,” Aaron said, his voice coming out scared and breathy. He could hear the satiny swish of Old Toms massive tail, hidden somewhere just beyond the treeline. “You don’t have my skin. I don’t have to show it to you. I could have my pick of any human in that inn.”

“And you think you might have better luck with  _ them _ .” Thomas’ lip curled into an angry sneer. “I have  _ never  _ been cruel to you, little Burr, and you cannot  imagine what some humans are capable of.”

“I _can’t breathe_ ,” he said. Thomas’ grip eased, leaving him gasping. Aaron came within a hair’s breadth of meting his gaze, perfectly level. “Most around here have house fae. It would take me maybe three minutes walking in the market to find a human kinder than you.”

“And you’d take that? Leave your skin nailed to a tree where anyone might find it, and run off to do some housewife’s chores in exchange for bread and milk?”

“Rather than have it an ocean away, while I do yours in exchange for nothing?”

Thomas watched him, brow creasing into a frown as Aaron failed completely to shift under his gaze. “What has gotten into you, Burr?”

“I know a little more about humans than when we first met.” He had only known wild fae on the ocean, met the house fae only briefly. But Lafayette had been patient, when Aaron quizzed him up and down about the nature of the house fae he had known. Hadn’t lied to him, or if he had then Hamilton had been in on the joke. Even Laurens, who had spared little thought to Aaron’s presence when it wasn’t needed, had seemed to be in agreement with the others on the treatment of house fae.

Thomas scoffed. “You wish to negotiate with me?”

“You wish me to lead you into these woods, then give me some clarification. Am I to be your house fae?”

“I told you the first minute I met you. I came here for a selkie bride.”

“You came here for a replacement to a human woman, and I am neither.” Aaron swallowed, his next words tasting leaden on his tongue, clunky and unfamiliar. “Make me a deal, Mr Jefferson. Fetch me my skin, and bring it with you wherever you go, and I’ll be your house fae. Or make me a counteroffer.”

Aaron’s heart pounded against the fragile skin between his ribs. If Old Tom failed after this, Aaron would be bound to his word. Would have to follow Jefferson, and never leave until he was freed by the man’s own hand. But if he didn’t do this, and Old Tom failed anyway, then things would simply return to how they had been before, and Aaron would take any number of years of servitude over even a day of having his skin an ocean away.

He had made sense, he was sure of it. But Jefferson was still staring down at him. Then the man laughed, hard enough for the shaking of his shoulders to rattle down into Aaron’s spine, and made him his counteroffer.

***

Thomas kept his light grip on Aaron’s wrist as he led him through the woods, into the rocky clearing where the selkie halted.

The grass was greyish and patchy over dark earth. Pinpoints of white flowers peeped up here and there. There were little rustling noises as mice and birds skittered from tree to tree. The sleek grey fur of Burr’s skin hung dejectedly from a scantly-leafed oak tree. He ran his fingertips over the hide, and heard Aaron’s frightened intake of breath behind him.

Thomas turned back with a quarter of a smile growing over his lips to get a clear look at Aaron. Faltered before the comment hovering on his tongue could fall. The boy’s eyes were wide and pitch black, terror glinting in their depths. Freed from Thomas’ grip, his hands were trembling. Thomas sighed, took pity, and pulled the nail out of the tree.

A whirling maelstrom of black fur and sharp claws hit him, full-force. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter up within a week, and actually beta'd! I'm not entirely sure if I'm switching to Tuesdays from now on so expect me back either next Monday or Tuesday, I guess?
> 
> This is a kinda nothingy chapter with a lot of dialogue and like two cliffhangers? @lafayettethecinnamonbaguette wishes me to tell you that the reason I am about to make everything awful is basically that she dared me (we're not eight we're both adults what are you talking about). I really really enjoyed watching Burr being lowkey sarky (like, yeah, this is the effect that spending like a week in the company of Alexander Hamilton does to a person), and Thomas being totally confused about this whole thing. He was expecting to confront a band of thieves and instead he found a half-naked seal in a pub? So yeah, even though nothing really happened it was really fun to write. 
> 
> If you were disappointed by nothing really happening here, hit me up on tumblr @pennylehane. I love chatting about Hamilton/fic/whatever and I would love it so much if I got some prompts in my askbox to get me going for the next chapter!


	11. Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire and its consequences.

The dark little fae, whatever it was, hadn’t seen him slipping out of the bar after them. A fat pouch of coins sat heavy in his pocket, packed too tightly to give a tell-tale jingle as he stalked through the trees, evading the second follower. He could see the swish and pounce of black fur in the trees ahead of him, slowed his walk to near-silence to evade the creature’s keen ears.

  
The path they took was barely worn, but even as the two figures faded from view and their footfalls ceased to echo in his ears, he followed them by tracks— the crumpled edge of a dock leaf where Jefferson’s heavy boot had come down upon it. The disturbed ivy on a tree where a shoulder had brushed by, or perhaps on of the two had paused to check which direction they were travelling. Almost due south, apparently.

  
The black fur ceased its jagged movements through the tree cover. He froze. Then began to creep forwards, pulling out his matchbook. Readying himself for the moment of attack.

  
Then, almost too fast for the eye to track, it pounced. There was a yell of shock, then the sounds of a scuffle hit him as he jerked forwards at a run. The woods split into a clearing, the cat hissing and spitting at Jefferson as he struggled to ward it off with only a tiny scrap of iron clutched between his fingers— a nail, maybe, or a crucifix. The fae had backed up, over to his left, watching the fight with wide, wild eyes that glinted with hunger or excitement.

  
The grey fur skin was on the ground. The hunter struck his match, and least.

  
The little fae’s scream tore so high and clear about the woods that the two fighters sprang apart and turned to the skin, but it was too late. Smoke was already filling the air at an impossible rate, thick and grey as cheap soup. The hunter tipped his cap to Jefferson just before the smog could engulf his view, and slipped away on swift, silent feet.

  
***

  
Aaron heard more than felt the noise ripping out of him in one wild roaring breath, and then felt the rush of heat as he hurled himself forwards onto the fire.

There was a yowl of pain, thousands of miles away or right behind him, and then a scuffling scrambling noise that might have been the fight coming to a quick end, or might have been Aaron’s own flailing limbs as he rolled frantically over the flames, beating at them with panicked, erratic palm-strokes.

  
A strong grip on his throat ripped him back and he was dangling a foot in the air from Jefferson’s grip, struggling wildly, retching and gasping for breath. The world swam back into visibility around him.

  
No, it wasn’t his vision. The smoke was clearing. He must have put the fire out. There was a long, dripping train of blood spatters leading off into the trees, and Hamilton’s iron nail lay bloodied by Jefferson’s feet. The stranger who had set the fire was gone, either a human who had snuck away in the smoke or a fire spirit who had burned his full and faded as the embers did.

  
Aaron was still staring, half-dazed, at anything but the skin when Jefferson let him down and he kept going, knees buckling under him until his hip his the earth with a far-off thump. When he looked up, he saw concerned brown eyes, and then cringed at his own daring.

  
Rather than kick him, Jefferson stepped away, leaving him staring into space, and then reappeared with the singed tatters of his skin in hand. It had burnt so fast.

  
“Can you put it back on?” Jefferson asked.

  
Aaron blinked stupidly at him. Made a growly little questioning noise, low in his throat.

  
Jefferson sighed and hunkered down so that he loomed from only a little higher than Aaron’s own level. “You’re hurt, Little Burr. Didn’t I promise to protect you?”

  
He had. Aaron nodded shakily.

  
“Then you need to tell me if you can use your skin. You’re very shaken, putting it back on, maybe even dipping into the sea, that might help, yes?”

  
Aaron’s heart broke. He shook his head.

  
“Are you refusing?”

  
The shaking became frantic, almost manic.

  
“You can’t put the skin on?”

  
“I’ll burn,” Aaron croaked. The singed edges of the holes in the skin would eat into his flesh, gnawing and searing all through him as he writhed and struggled to escape from his own skin, until--

  
Jefferson sighed, and then gave him a soft little coo of sympathy. He reached down and started to rub soothing little patterns into Aaron’s shoulders with reassuringly cool hands. Slowly, the little noises of the birds in the trees above them returned, perhaps returning as they saw that the fire was in no danger of spreading to the trees, or perhaps there the whole time and only now audible to Aaron through the haze of shock and horror. There was no pain, but Aaron was sure he could feel the burning still.

  
***

  
Thomas scooped Aaron up with a soft hushing sound, the skin folded over his arm. The little selkie was shaking and gasping, clinging to him like a child in a hurricane, his tiny little gasps just quiet enough to stir up pity in Thomas’ gut. Not enough to make him regret hiring the hunter, though, not quite.

  
Aaron was feather-light in his arms, perfectly manageable even in his tremors all the way back through the woods and into the inn to arrange his luggage delivered. Barely stirred when Thomas rested him down on the bench beside him on the carriage.  
He petted Aaron’s hair indulgently as the selkie curled into his lap.

The skin lay piled up beside him, silky fur flawless everywhere save the charred edges around the gaping burn scars. Thomas traced his fingers around one. He could leave it. Toss it out through the window as the coach trundled along. Or weigh it down and cast it into the sea once they had boarded the ship. The selkie was too shaken to object, would be an ocean away before he came to his senses with only Jefferson to turn to. But that would be cruel. The little creature had been brave, to bargain with him. Couldn’t have known he was helplessly unmatched, even planning to betray Thomas as he clearly had been. Thomas could afford the kindness of keeping his word.

  
As they approached the docks, the harsh cries of seabirds began to pierce the heavy curtains of the carriage. Then, a moment later, they were joined by the cacophonous baying of a pod of seals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this is what @lafayettethecinnamonbaguette was apologising for last week. Hopefully it was perfectly clear what happened? I was trying to juggle PoVs so it actually made sense but I'm not sure how well that worked out. 
> 
> My beta might be sorry, but I'm not. If anything I'm more proud of this chapter than I have been any of the others. I actually made her swear at me, that's an achievement. Also I'd really missed Jefferson's manipulative POV sections, they're a lot of fun to write. Even if I want to shower in bleach to cleanse myself afterwards. 
> 
> As always, please talk to me either in the comments or over on tumblr @pennylehane!


	12. Ocean Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, everyone makes it to America. Also, Thomas Jefferson has no sense of boundaries.

The waves rocked and swayed, the deck tipping and shifting under Thomas' feet as he took an after dinner walk about the prow, watching the sailors about their work. The sun bleached away from cold grey sky that snarled and lashed at the rolling waves, as they twisted and danced in and out of each other's grasp. Thomas turned his back on the rail and stalked back into the cabin, the wind whipping up the tail of his coat into a delightfully dramatic flare.

The cabin was dank with the smell of damp, creaking wood and lengthy habitation. He kicked at a mouse scurrying past his foot, and closed the door behind him, the room lit by the flickering tongues of a few dozen candles. When he cast about with eyes still adjusting to the darkness, he saw even tinier pinpricks of light clustered together as the flames were reflected back in Aaron's wide black eyes. Slowly, his features faded into clarity, curled up in the bed where Thomas had left him, peeping out from the side of the blanket at him. Thomas' fingertips twitched against his sleeves in annoyance-- he had left Aaron completely covered, and his movement had disrupted the sheets.

He looked incredibly small, half-lit and half-covered. Impatient, Thomas gestured him to his feet. Burr slid out of the bed in a neat flurry of movement and hastened to attend him, sliding his coat carefully down over his shoulders and beginning to ready him for bed. Thomas stumbled a little at a particularly stern tip of the ship. He caught himself on Aaron's arm, glad of his perfect balance on the decks. He had come to very much appreciate the little selkie, out here in this cold little cabin being thrown across the sea. With Thomas dressed, he stepped back and slipped back under the covers soundlessly, sliding neatly into the spot where Thomas preferred him with his head just short of reaching the pillow.

Thomas followed him into the bed, giving a contented sigh at the warmth awaiting him there. As the chill crept in at the edges, he pressed himself up against Aaron, stroking one icy hand over his warm flank and tucking the little fae's head tightly under his chin. Aaron's breath was warm and steady on his chest, barely wriggling as Thomas made himself comfortable.

Eventually he found himself settled, and started to pet Aaron's thigh absently until he went limp and pliant. Murmured a soft word of praise. It was too early to sleep, in truth, but there was precious little else to do in their dark, dank little room. Anyway, Thomas had plans for the night.

He had accommodated Aaron's mute shock for too long. The boy had served meekly, obedient to a fault, but had hidden himself away in the dark of the cabin where he lit Thomas' candles and warmed his bed, hidden from the curious eyes of the crew, living off the scraps Thomas had collected dutifully from the ship's galley each day. Enough was enough.

"I'd read that it was common, for men to burn a selkie bride's skin to keep them from returning to the sea," he said. He felt Aaron's jerk rattle through him. "Well?"

There was a faint chill as Aaron pulled away from him. Thomas tutted and gave his thigh a hard pinch until he slotted back into place.

Another heartbeat. A moment before Thomas would have chided him, Aaron mumbled, "That's true, sir."

"I considered it," Thomas said, which was entirely true. "I was afraid it might hurt you." Technically true. "That was the only reason I didn't, if I'm frank." True only in the loosest sense of the word. Aaron made a soft whining noise against Thomas' chest. "Did it?"

"I don't know, sir."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't really feel anything, sir. Like all the pain I should have felt burnt too."

Thomas tutted. "I didn't ask you for poetry, little Burr."

"I'm sorry, sir," Burr murmured. "I don't really understand it, sir."

Thomas sighed and rubbed one hand very gently over the back of Burr's scalp. "I suppose that isn't your fault," he murmured. "Empty-headed little thing."

"Thank you, sir," Burr said, flinching at the perceived insult.

"If you're not hurt, then, I see no reason to continue indulging your recalcitrance."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll have you at my side tomorrow, then?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good boy. Perhaps now is the moment to begin thinking about how you intend to live on the mainland."

Burr's shoulders trembled under his arm. "Sir?"

"I struck a deal with you, you ridiculous little creature. Have you forgotten already?"

"I-- I thought you wouldn't intend to keep it any longer, sir, as I've no longer any use for my skin."

"Are you insinuating that I am not a man of my word?" Thomas demanded.

Burr cringed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't think--"

"No. You did not. Perhaps you ought to remedy that fault, in future."

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir." Burr nuzzled against his chest pathetically. "You're keeping me?"

He sounded so frightened that Thomas couldn't quite keep from squeezing him lightly in a reassuring embrace. "Yes, pet. I'm keeping you. I promised you more than an estate to manage, and I can promise you further that I am a man of my word.  You'll be safe with me, little Burr, and satisfied. Is that enough?"

Burr's breath hitched, and he nodded quickly against Thomas' chest. Rather than demand a proper response, Thomas settled back on the pillow and resumed his gentle petting of the little selkie, the squeaking of mice interrupted by the soft rustle of skin on skin.

***

It was perhaps inevitable that Jefferson's arrival in America would wreak mayhem upon James Madison's life. He watched absently as the little fae poured their wine and then settled back into the corner out of the way.

"What is he?" he asked, slowly.

Thomas looked up from the sheaf of papers James had prepared for him. "Selkie. Don't be disquieted, James, he'll not do anything. Rather fragile, if I'm quite honest."

"It's not as though you don't have valets, Thomas. House fae. Servants. And it's certainly not as though a pet wild fae is the kind of eccentricity the public overlook."

"I don't keep pets, James. I'm in need of support I know won't betray me, and I can think of none better."

"Oh, excellent, so you intend to take him to work. You're the Secretary of State, Thomas, you need to be seen as businesslike, not flaunting your new concubine about the city."

"James!" Thomas slapped James' carefully prepared sheaf of briefings down on the table. "Please, have some decorum. He's to be my secretary."

James rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, if he's your secretary, then nobody will suspect you of anything untoward at all. Nothing assuages vicious rumours like having their subject by your side for every waking moment."

"I don't intend to deflower him on Washington's doorstep, James."

"I'm sorry, you _are_ sleeping with him? For heaven's sake, Thomas!" James tilted his gaze back to the fae in the corner, who stared straight ahead and kept a firm grip on the decanter, for all the world as though he couldn't understand a word of their conversation.

Thomas gave up on arguing with him and picked up the next sheet. "Well, then," he said, pushing onwards. James turned back to him to see an odd expression of delighted surprise flit over his brow. "What can you tell me about this Alexander Hamilton?"

In the corner of the room, the decanter shattered against the wooden floorboards. As James was startled into a wild fit of hacking coughs, he dimly registered Thomas' low, rolling laughter.

"What is it?" James asked, once his lungs were under control.

Thomas shook his head. "No, I'm quite sure I know just from this. Recently suffered the loss of a close friend, you say here. How tragic."

James had few expectations of Thomas beginning to make sense in the near future, so he steered the conversation onwards to Hamilton's new financial plan. The fae had slipped away and returned with a dustpan to gather up the shards of the decanter, and moved back to the table to refill their glasses from a fresh one. James caught his gaze tracking over Thomas' paperwork as he twisted the bottle up easily to catch the drops.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

Thomas snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, James, he's practically a wild fae still."

"Then why are you proposing to employ him as a secretary?" James asked. "Or are you fucking him after all?"

"I'm sure I don't understand why you're quite so fixated on the issue of my nonexistant bedmates," Thomas grumbled.

James pushed the sheaf of papers around to face the fae. "Well?"

The fae hesitated, glancing at Thomas. He sighed, and gestured for him to go ahead. He stooped elegantly over James’ notes, brow creasing a little.

“Don’t scowl like that,” Thomas chided. It uncreased.

The fae stood back to attention and offered a brief summary of James’ notes, fingertips tapping against his thigh.

“I didn’t ask you for a precsi,” James said, needled. He twirled the stem of his wine glass, waiting for Thomas to dismiss him.

Thomas’ lips thinned, making the fae cringe back a little.

“I imagine you would oppose it on the basis of who primarily benefits, sir,” he said more slowly. Gaze flicking from the papers on the table to the set of Jefferson’s shoulders. “With your thoughts on the efficiencies of financiers. It might ven lay beyond the reaches of your constitution, given a stricter definition of its terms. I can understand how the measures Mr Madison poses might be seen as difficult to implement, though. Sirs.”

James blinked. Watched, a little startled, as Thomas dismissed the fae with an expression of bemusement identical to the one James felt sure he must be wearing. The fae slipped away.

"I suppose an apology is order," James said.

"I so seem to have surpassed even my own judgement," Thomas agreed.

"I never said I intended to give you one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be about a quarter of a chapter, but it got away from me, gonna have to extend the chapter count to match. I was just having too much fun in the ship scene. Plus it wouldn't be a fic for @lafayettethecinnamonbaguette if there wasn't some love for Madison. 
> 
> As always, I love getting comments, and it would be amazing if people reached out on [tumblr](pennylehane.tumblr.com). I'm working on my next fic mostly atm, but I'd love to get some prompts (for literally anything) in my inbox!


	13. Ill Humour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aaron settled into his new home, Thomas begins to set a plan in motion.

Aaron crawled out from under Madison’s desk, and dared to fix a glare on Mr Jefferson’s collarbones. “This is becoming ridiculous,” he said, flatly.

“He isn’t wrong,” Madison added before Jefferson could snap at him. He stooped down to check under his desk.

“What exactly do you think I was doing under there?” Aaron asked, following his gaze. “I am housetrained, you know.”

Jefferson’s hand cracked down over his head. Expecting it, Aaron curled into a half-flinch before the blow had even landed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he added, not particularly repentant. Mr Jefferson didn’t particularly mind him being rude to Mr Madison when they were alone. He seemed to find it funny. And it was always wise to try and even out his tempers, after an altercation with Hamilton.

“The fae’s hearing is good, but sooner or later Hamilton is going to see him.” Madison sank back into his chair. “If you think it will be that much of a shock, should we not be using the matter to our advantage?”

Jefferson scoffed. _“Think,_ please, James, I’m entirely certain. And I don’t intend to lose an advantage just because you’ve come over with an attack of the nerves.”

“As opposed to an attack of the spine,” Aaron muttered, not entirely recovered from clambering into Jefferson’s filing cabinet when Hamilton had stormed their office a day previous. This time, Jefferson’s backhand was legitimately painful, and a high, animal whine slipped out of him before he could stifle it. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Madison was watching them both with careful judgement. “You could be a little more consistent in your discipline, Thomas.”

“I’m perfectly consistent. It’s the fae who lets his standards slip.” Thomas rolled out his shoulders. “And anyway, I’m quite sure that there will be no need for such charades much longer. You know I had Gilbert for dinner whilst you were off visiting?”

Madison shook his head, and then winced as if at a headache sloshing about his skull. Aaron hastened to fetch him some water, which he sipped at gratefully as they both turned back to watch Jefferson pace, explaining at length his discussions with Lafayette on his current residence with the Hamiltons.

Aaron hadn’t been permitted to come into the room to serve them. He had spent the day darting about preparing matters to Mr Jefferson’s exacting standards, and most of the night fetching fresh bottles of wine for them to be served by the cook’s daughter. He hadn’t seen Lafayette.

Mr Jefferson had stopped talking.

Madison leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands. “You’ll speak to him then?”

Aaron blinked. He had been absolutely certain he was listening to Mr Jefferson’s speech, but had no idea what jump Mr Madison had made.

Jefferson laughed, and when Aaron glanced up, the man was watching him with a soft smile at his bewilderment. “Come along.”

He stepped out into the hall, allowing Aaron to scurry along at his side.

***

Thomas ate slowly as his fae finished running him through the day’s achievements and moved on to what must be done tomorrow.

“Stop,” he said.

Aaron broke off, lowering his notes to set them down beside his own cooling plate. “Sir?”

“Make some changes. I need to be at Washington’s immediately after lunch.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron noted it down, but made no move to continue reading. Black eyes peeped out through thick lashes in Thomas’ general direction.

“Aaron,” Thomas chided, letting his foot nudge Aaron’s shin in a gentle warning.

Aaron cringed, but said nothing.

Thomas sighed. He had only kept his deal with the little fae as a show of faith, initially. Putting a little trust in Aaron had made him sweeter, more malleable, more confident that he could trust Thomas in return aboard ship. Once settled, Thomas had rewarded him with a little more, and found Aaron thriving. More importantly, he found his home, his filing, and his finances all in better shape than they ever had been. A little leniency for cheek was little enough price to pay.

“I’ll be leaving you behind for that meeting,” he said by way of explanation. “Perhaps a good time to get ahead on some of the house chores?”

“Of course, sir.” Aaron didn’t ask why he was meeting Hamilton, but moved on with his briefing as though Thomas’ reasoning were entirely clear. Rattled to a close as Thomas turned his attention to the way his wine caught the light as it swirled in his glass. Flicked his hand in permission.

 _“Manners,”_ he warned, when Aaron began to eat a little too quickly. He amended his behaviour, earning a little hum of approval.

After enjoying his drink in peace for a minute or two, Thomas stood from the table, ready to retire. Aaron jumped up and followed him to their bedroom.

“Sir?” he asked, when Thomas stood waiting to be undressed. “Is it not a little early?”

Leniency only stretched so far. Thomas slapped him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Aaron murmured, and moved quickly to divest Thomas of his clothes. Hovered on the threshold of the door as Thomas searched through his books. “I only— if I don’t get back downstairs, sir, I’ll be running behind tomorrow?”

Hand resting on a spine, Thomas fixed his gaze on Aaron. “Then tomorrow I shall expect to see your best work.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron stripped quickly and climbed into the bed. Thomas followed him, and took a moment to help Aaron settle against his side, so that he could prop up his book in the single remaining lantern’s dim glow. When they began to distract his attention, he hushed the little selkie’s heavy breaths with a soothing hand over his collar.

Even then, the book in front of him could barely hold his gaze past the thoughts swimming over it. He would need to discuss the menu with Aaron, of course. Perhaps he would be able to arrange a well-timed shopping trip. Hold the meal here, of course, so that Aaron’s presence could be written off as coincidence if Hamilton went running to Washington’s office. They could use the parlour, rather than the dining room, so that it would be possible for himself and James to position themselves where Hamilton would have no choice but to sit with his back to the entrance.

Thomas moved the hand on Aaron’s neck down over his chest to pull him a little closer, and then rested back against the pillows, allowing pride to wash over him. Enjoyed the moment.

When he laughed, there was a rustle of moment as Aaron glanced up at him from under the sheet.

“Sir?”

“I’m quite sure that tomorrow that I will be able to say ‘good day’ to Hamilton, and actually be having one,” he mused.

“Oh.” The selkie settled, nuzzling sweetly against Thomas’ chest.

He didn’t bother chastising him. After all, it was rather less than surprising that even the simplest of humour was lost on the little creature.

Thomas set aside his book, pinched out the candle, and fell to sleep wondering whether that should be the next matter in which he tutored Aaron. After all, it was the selkie who was missing something that might bring his dour attitude a little joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm sorry for vanishing, for everyone who didn't see the note I put up on tumblr, I had kind of a week from hell and needed some time to recover and catch up with work. I hope you all like the update, though? Next week, Hamilton!
> 
> As always, I'm super hungry for feedback in the comments, or for people to come and chat to me on tumblr @pennylehane! I got a prompt after the last update, so if anybody wants to see an au of this au where Thomas is an acceptable human being, head on over there to take a look!


	14. Finest Silks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone else was in the room where it happens...

“No.”

Aaron froze in position as Mr Jefferson came back into their bedroom, shirt falling limp between his fingers. Thomas plucked it from his grip and tossed it aside, and walked past Aaron towards their clothes chest. Out of Aaron’s view. He held perfectly still.

A few moments later, Mr Jefferson reemerged and pressed a different shirt into his hand. Cool, silky fabric that slipped between his fingers in a bright, rich purple tone with a faint sheen. Delicate embroidery over the hems and collar, like the dresses that fine ladies wore to go visiting in the evenings. He traces his fingers over the beading on the cuffs, pushing a worried frown back away from his face.

This was not a secretary’s clothing. Or a house servant’s. It was something new, where he didn’t know the rules, where Jefferson might expect anything of him and he had no way of knowing what. His fingertips were trembling.

A hand landed on his shoulder. Past the tidal roar of panic, Aaron feels himself lean into the touch. Bend at the neck to rub his cheek against the back of Jefferson’s hand.

When it vanished, he forced his limbs to move, and dressed himself under Mr Jefferson’s watchful gaze. Felt twice as naked as he had shirtless. Cautious of reprimand, Aaron rolled his shoulders and twisted under the fabric, unused to the way it clung and shifted, nothing like the hard, starched edges of Mr Jefferson’s castoffs.

“Thank you, sir?” he hazarded.

Mr Jefferson laughed, and tugged Aaron a little closer. Tilted his chin up until he was forced to stare fixedly at the window to avoid making eye contact. Aaron held his posture as Jefferson’s hand slid down over his next to examine the collar.

“Vain little thing,” he murmured, adjusting it a little tighter. Aaron’s heart jittered.

“I don’t wish you to be frightened,” Thomas said. Took one step back so that Aaron could no longer feel hot breath on his cheek, only the light touch of warm fingers over his throat.

Aaron blinked at him, lost. “Sir?”

“I’ve gone to great lengths to try and keep you safe, Aaron,” Jefferson continued. “To earn your trust.”

It might have been a mercy that Aaron was so confused. It kept dismay and disbelief from warring on his face. “Yes, sir.”

“You do understand that, at least, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir.” What was he supposed to understand? “I’m very grateful, sir.”

“Good boy. You do trust me, don’t you Aaron?”

Aaron’s thoughts skittered about for anything he could have done wrong to bring this about, but his lips had grown practised enough to work without them. “Yes, sir.”

“And you do know that humans lie, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” So could Aaron. “I trust you, sir.”

Jefferson laughed, hand sliding up to cradle Aaron’s cheek. Pleased. “Then you must promise not to be frightened by anything that happens tonight.”

Dread settled like an anchor in his gut. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Like a changing wind, Jefferson was gone, his heat not coiling over Aaron’s skin, his fingers no longer too tight over Aaron’s jaw. “I’ll not be needing you to join me at work today. See that everything is readied for tonight, instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

A moment later, he was gone. Aaron watched him depart through the window, just to make absolutely certain, before daring to venture downstairs.

***

They were mocking him. Jefferson was worse, of course, eyes almost creaking with laugh lines every time Alexander moved. Madison watched the door behind Alexander, making him twitchy and nervous, flinching every time it opened to let in the maid bringing their food.

Of all the questions he had asked Lafayette, it had never even occurred to bring up whether his intolerable friend was likely to set the seating arrangements so that Alexander looked like a skittish horse throughout the entire meeting.

The next time she entered, Alexander made a concentrated effort not to embarrass himself further. Didn’t turn to look around as she approached, but simply leaned back in his chair and allowed her to lay the table.

“Have a fresh bottle of wine sent in,” Jefferson told her. “I feel we could all do with a change. Something sweet. After all, I’ve been left so far with rather a bitter taste in my mouth.”

He laughed at his own joke. Alexander glanced at Madison, and saw him crooking a disdainful half-smile.

“The capital,” Alexander said, in a desperate bid to regain his ground in the conversation. “I--”

“Yes, yes, we’ll take it.” Jefferson twirled his empty wineglass between his fingertips, carelessly spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth. “Won’t we?”

Madison shrugged. “It seems a fair trade.”

Alexander had been listing his arguments without cease since they had sat down at the table, save when politeness called him to close his mouth to chew. Still, he hadn’t expected them to actually listen. “Then, we are in agreement?” he clarified.

Jefferson smiled. “It seems we are.”

“Of course,” Madison said, possibly intending to catch Alexander off guard but in actuality serving more to set him at ease. “There is the matter of equal trades.”

“I’m sure I’ve been entirely generous,” Alexander said. The door clicked open behind him.

Jefferson snorted. “I think not.”

He raised his glass for the maid to refill.

Madison was speaking again, but Alexander was entirely deaf to him. It was not the maid pouring wine into Jefferson’s glass with a neat flick of the wrist.

Aaron’s eyes were cast firmly on his own hands as he moved on to Madison’s, and the Alexander’s glass. Rather than leave the room as the maid had been doing, he then retreated to a corner, just in the corner of Alexander’s gaze if he looked straight ahead over the table.

“What,” he said. Voice crackling with his attempt to keep his tone even.

Jefferson was still laughing at him.

Even Madison looked amused. “Oh, so you have met Burr?”

 _Burr_. Alexander had heard the name, attached to Jefferson’s secretary. One he’d never met, or even seen, known only through the vague descriptions of a few coworkers who had run errands between offices. Fae. Slight. Perpetually at his master’s side, silent and attentive.

He wasn’t dressed as a secretary, in bright, fine silks. The colour caught at Alexander’s gaze as he shook his head. “I had no idea we had a mutual acquaintance in your— secretary,” he managed.

Jefferson laughed. “Well, he’s been quite anxious to avoid you,” he said.

Alexander flinched, and then felt a flush creep over his cheeks. “What exactly is this?” he demanded.

Jefferson shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry, Hamilton, the negotiation is over. We’ve agreed to your terms.”

“Whether they’re entirely favourable or not,” Madison added grimly.

A twitch caught Alexander’s gaze in the corner of the room. “You _agreed_ ,” he repeated, helplessly confused.

“Yes, I’m afraid we did.” Jefferson wriggled his shoulders in a disinterested shrug. “Ah, well. I’m sure I’ll find some way to exorcise my disappointment.”

Twitch, again. The flicker of fine cloth in a barely-there cringe.

“Exorcise your disappointment,” Alexander repeated. He thought of the churchyard— Aaron’s quiet dignity, the man he had later identified as Thomas Jefferson’s callous distaste, faded bruises barely visible under ill-fitted sleeves. He set down his glass with a rattling _clink_. “You disgust me.”

A tiny, hushed intake of breath from the corner. Madison snorted, as though he couldn’t believe quite how stupid Alexander had just shown himself to be. Alexander bristled.

Thomas laughed. “If you’re afraid he might think less of you for tonight’s consequences? I wouldn’t be. I don’t think he could imagine much less of you after last time.”

Quite unable to stop himself, Alexander was out of his chair and advancing towards Aaron, before stumbling to an abrupt halt when the fae cringed back against the wall.

“Aaron,” he breathed, spellbound with pity.

Behind him, Jefferson laughed again. Aaron whimpered.

A chair scraped against the floor as Jefferson stood to lead Alexander out of the room with an insistent grip on his arm. “I believe we’ve all said our pieces,” the man said when he struggled. “And it’s high time I saw you out.”

“You’re not going to--” He had meant to say _argue_ , meant to say _you wouldn’t have told me he was here except to gain something from it_ , or meant to say _you’re not going to let me have the banks, why would you, when you’ve so many cards and I’ve only a capital we all know means nothing_. Instead, he said nothing, or rather, continued speaking but was drowned out by Jefferson’s interruption, and his response to a question infinitely more vile than those that had preoccupied Alexander’s thoughts.

“Why, Hamilton, I’m sure you understand that what a gentleman gets up to in his own home is nobody’s business but his own. Now hurry back, I’m certain that your own dear wife is waiting.”

As the door slammed in his face, Hamilton remembered that Jefferson was unmarried. And then he thought about fine, coloured silks, and turned away into the rain with revulsion coiling in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be my favourite chapter in a while... I know Hamilton is probably going to come across as a little OOC but he's in a lot of shock and definitely wrong footed, which is what I was trying to capture there. In the next chapter: the long-awaited reappearance of Lafayette, and Alex _finally_ get called the fuck out. 
> 
> In the meantime, come and hang out on tumblr @pennylehane! I literally always want to talk about Hamilton, and I have a prompt fill I'm hoping to finish tomorrow or the day after continuing the Acceptable Human Being Jefferson AU of this. See you!


	15. Marketplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, some people are getting called out right now immediately.

“What in the hell is going on, Aaron?”

Aaron yipped and spun around as Alexander’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, fumbling his bag. “Mr Hamilton?”

Alexander pushed him back a little, examining him for fresh bruises. The stallholder Aaron had been speaking to glared at him, but left him to his business as he addressed his next customer.

“I want answers, Aaron!” Noting a slight limp besides the blossom of dark blue over one cheekbone, Alexander took his hands off the selkie’s shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing back with Jefferson?”

“Where else were you expecting me to be, Mr Hamilton?” Aaron asked. He moved a little, bowed his head incrementally as Alexander moved to keep him trapped.

“You were supposed to be safe!” Alexander snapped. “Home! Why would you have gone back to him if he _hurts_ you?”

Black eyes shot up from the ground, placidly impenetrable. “Some idiot nailed my skin to a tree.”

“You should have been able to get free! I rescued you!” he spat back, barely caring when Aaron flinched away.

“ _Rescued_ me.”

“I got you away from him! That _is_ rescuing!”

“Invest in a dictionary.” Unable to leave the stall, Aaron turned around to take a vigorous interest in two rinds of cheese.

“Aaron!”

His shoulders twitched, but he did not turn to face Alexander.

“Aaron, I’m not going to hurt you.” He ran a coaxing hand down Aaron’s arm. It turned over under his touch, revealing vicious, ropey burn scars on Aaron’s fingers. “Those weren’t there before.”

“No. They were not.” Aaron’s tone was perfectly level, leaning as far away from Alexander as he could without actively pulling at the light grip on his wrist.

Right in the center of his palm with the wide-tipped, perfectly shaped imprint of a nail, as though he had smacked his palm right down into a red-hot chunk of metal in frustration. Horror gnawed at the roots of Alexander’s heart. “Aaron,” he asked. “Where is your skin?”

“It burnt.” Aaron slipped his goods into his bag, paying the stallholder without a word exchanged between them. Alexander allowed him to leave the marketplace, staying heartbeat-close to his back in silence just long enough for them to get out of earshot of the gossiping hens.

He tugged Aaron lightly to a halt. “Tell me.”

Aaron told him.

Alexander shook his head like a sodden dog, furious. “I— I didn’t know!”

“If you didn’t know, why did you think it would hold me back long enough for you and Mr Lafayette to set sail, Mr Hamilton?” Aaron asked, his tone still aggravatingly placid. His gaze tracking the movement of Alexander’s hands.

“I never meant for you to be hurt, only to keep you from following us!”

“I wouldn’t have.”

Alexander reeled. Then, softly— “I thought you were at least the very least fond of us. Might have wished to say goodbye. And I did not wish to bring you back to Lafayette.”

“I would not have, had you not wished it, Mr Hamilton.” He had to have imagined the note of reproach, used to it as he had grown. In only the last night, when Lafayette broke off from yet another bickering letter to his wife, at the mention of Aaron, he had heard little else. Lafayette.

“Lafayette was… most displeased with me. I did not understand the depths of his affront, not knowing what I had done to you, but, I’m sure, you would wish to know that he defended you.”

Aaron froze for a moment, as if the new information needed a moment to settle behind his eyes. “Is he well, sir?”

“The very picture of health.” Alexander felt a frown drawing over his brow. “He was dining with your— with Jefferson, last week, was he not?”

“I was not permitted to see him, sir.”

Alexander hesitated, heart crackling. “Do you wish to? My home is not so far from here…”

“Mr Jefferson will be expecting me back, shortly, sir.” Aaron shifted. “He is staying with you, still?”

Alexander laughed. “Not entirely of his own will, but yes, he is. He has been trying to convince his wife to await him in France, but she remains less than convinced. She is quite determined to come over here and join him, but he insists he must join the revolution with his people. From what we know, though, it is radicalising rather fast against the aristocracy, and I imagine she doesn’t wish to bring the children up in such a climate. Regardless of their reasoning, neither is willing to board a ship for fear that they arrive to discover the other halfway across the ocean. I’m quite sure he’ll wear a hole through my floorboards, with his tendency to pace as he writes.”

“I’m glad he’s well.” Aaron’s gaze flicked up and met Alexander’s. “You will take care of him? I would not wish him to be distressed by my presence, since so many seem to feel the need to keep us separated.”

Alexander would take care of Lafayette. The knowledge was written in his bones, sure as stone tablets, pulsing through his bones with every rush of blood. He turned away, and stumbled towards home, unheeding of the selkie slipping its way back into the marketplace.

***

Thomas frowned as Aaron closed on his report. “He simply walked away? Did not press any further?”

“Yes, sir.” Only long familiarity allowed Thomas to catch sight of the tightness in Aaron’s shoulders, and his hands clinging a little tighter to one another.

“You know I won’t tolerate dishonesty,” he warned, taking an iron grip on Aaron’s frail wrist. “Is that what happened?”

Aaron nodded, not quite frantic. “Yes, sir.”

Thomas waited. Nothing. “I can tell you are frightened, Aaron. If you’re not lying, then there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. If you tell me the truth, I’ll have no reason to punish you.”

“You had no reason to punish me last night.”

Thomas’ grip twisted on Aaron’s wrist, dragging him forwards into the blow to his cheek, just over the bruise already there, sending a fresh wave of colour through it. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Yes, sir.” The selkie drew back a little, cautious not to tug its wrist from Thomas’ hold.

After three carefully counted seconds, Thomas released him and watched him slowly stand and smooth out his clothes. “I understand that what happened last night has confused you,” he said, caressing Aaron’s bruised cheek comfortingly. “We will speak no further of this. Go and fetch some tea from the kitchens.”

“Yes, sir.”

Not two seconds after Aaron had left, the maid slipped in to replace him. “Mr Jefferson, sir? The Marquis is here to see you.”

Thomas grimaced. “Please, do send him in. And hold Aaron up in the kitchens until there is enough gathered for him to bring for us both.”

“Yes, sir.” She bobbed and vanished, reappearing a moment later with a Lafayette who remained perfectly composed until the second the door closed behind her.

“Thomas,” he said, barely keeping a snarl back from his teeth.

Thomas gestured towards the waiting chair with desperate congeniality. “Mon ami! I was not expecting you?”

“You were not?” Lafayette leaned on the chair, but did not sit, preferring to loom forwards over the desk. “That seems uncharacteristically short-sighted.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do not play games with me, Thomas.”

Thomas sighed. “The fae.”

“He saved my life.”

Thomas couldn’t meet Lafayette’s solemn, disappointed gaze. “Your friends saved your life. He was forced to aid them. I don’t call that a deed of great heroism.”

“Ocean fae are weak on the land,” Lafayette said. “And still, he was honest. He helped. And it was not my friends, who ripped him from his home.”

“Please, sit. We can discuss your concerns over tea?” Thomas couldn’t even pretend not to hear the worried strain in his own voice.

Lafayette’s gaze pinned him in place. “It is not my place to debate what a man does in his own home, Thomas. Not how you choose to discipline your house fae. But you beat him for _Hamilton’s_ sake. And that was most unkind of you.”

“I knew you were unusually fond of the fae, but I had honestly hoped that an encounter with a redcap might have brought you to sense. They aren’t _human,_ ” he stressed.

“Did you think I had not noticed?” Lafayette asked, finally slipping onto the seat. “It would take more than one cruel fae, to turn me against their entire people. Imagine if that were the metric that they used to judge us.”

“What would you have me do? Cast aside an advantage, simply because it is distasteful to you?”

“I had hoped that, as a man of such high ideals, it might be equally distasteful to you.”

Thomas shook off Lafayette’s disdainful gaze. “I hate to--”

The door clicked open unobtrusively, and they both turned to face it in silence, Lafayette leaping once again from his seat. Burr carried the tea tray in with his gaze pinned unerringly on his hands.

The second the tray was settled, Lafayette snatched Burr up in his embrace. “Hamilton told me—I was quite sure you would come to harm, trapped like that. I’m delighted to see you so well.”

“And I you, sir,” Aaron murmured, dipping his head as Lafayette’s fingers trailed delicately over the freshened bruise under his eye. “I had feared you might not be enough recovered for the journey.”

Lafayette squeezed him once more, and then stepped back, finally meeting Thomas’ gaze. “I must ask—your skin?”

“Hamilton did not tell you that too?” Thomas muttered.

“Oh, no, he told me,” Lafayette said, in a tone so sweet that Thomas’ stomach dropped clean through the house into the ground beneath. “I had only wondered— did you send the hunter?”

“What?” Thomas snapped, straightening in his seat, furious. “Lafayette!”

His mind worked, lightning-speed driven by anger and need. The selkie’s trust in him had been built so utterly on that presence in that moment, had been the transition from the frightened servant he had trained at first into the perfect companion he kept at his side now. He could be rid of him easily enough if he turned surly and uncooperative now, with this thought planted in his mind, but it would be a shame. Now that the little creature had learnt to be sweet, and attentive to Thomas’ needs. Now that enough of Thomas’ work had gone into his shaping to make replacing him a trial.

“It doesn’t matter,” Aaron said quietly, after a few beats too many of Thomas’ silence.

Thomas, through the corner of his eye, saw Lafayette keep perfect time with him as they both devoted the entire force of their stunned attention to Aaron.

“Explain,” Thomas said.

Aaron flinched. “I know you hired the hunter who— I already know. At least, I’m quite sure. It doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” Lafayette pressed, reaching towards Aaron. Waiting a moment, for some unseen cue, before taking his hand.

Aaron looked quickly from one man to the other. “I— the deed is done, sir. I cannot go back. If I ever see my friends again, then I will have to bear the knowledge that even if I search for all my life, I might never find them again. I _cannot_ do that. I couldn’t.”

He broke off. Thomas gestured for him to continue.

“I’m not strong enough on land to fend for myself, either,” he admitted. “And if I must be a house fae— you promised me I could do something more, sir. And you have kept your word.”

Thomas stared.

Lafayette lowered himself back into his seat slowly, and gestured for Aaron to join them. “Please. Take tea with us,” he said, as if nothing had passed.

“Lafayette, I’m not sure--”

“If you object, I am not opposed to joining him in the kitchens,” Lafayette warned.

He probably was not, damn him. Thomas allowed it.

The silence sat, awkward and stony, as Lafayette took up a plate and began to eat.

“Mr. Hamilton tells me you are engaged in some manner of discourse with your wife?” Aaron asked, after regarding Thomas uncertainly for several seconds.

Lafayette lit up, shaking his head and leaning forwards over the table, delighted as ever by the mere mention of Adrienne. Thomas could feel a soft smile creeping over his lips, and reached forwards to help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This,,,,is the most satisfying thing,,,,,,I have ever written,,,,,,,my children,,,,,,,,end them,,,,,,,,show no mercy
> 
> Also! Couple of things to note. So, some people are wondering what's going on with the chapter count (I know this because I have been Judged). Eagle-eyed readers, who pay attention to the comments, will know that I said a while back that I already had the ending written, which is true, but unfortunately, my beta and I were chatting about some, future plot developments on Friday. It's come down to-- I can end this where I was originally planning to, and pick up where we left off for a short sequel, or I can extend this fic after the existing ending to lay some better groundwork for an eventual, longer sequel. Tell me what you think, either in the comments or over on tumblr?
> 
> Speaking of tumblr, I lied about answering my prompt fill, and I am shamed. I had exams last week and I forgot about it. My bad. It's up now though!


	16. Mortal Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something nice happens to Aaron? This cannot bode well...

Aaron tilted back his head and let the raindrops smack down against his eyelids. The city bustled in the distance, the winds rustling through the trees to curl around him. There were little fae chittering in the bushes, but they wouldn’t talk to him.

None of the fae here wanted to speak to him. At home, he had never really spoken to the house fae he met along the coast, aside from basic pleasantries. They had their own circles, where they knew one another’s cares and concerns, their homes and lives. It was the same here, most likely, but Aaron had not been permitted entry into these circles.

Too distant. Too foreign. Too resentful. He had tried. Tried and kept trying, at first, but it was obvious that Jefferson’s household fae disliked him. Yet more obvious that there was  _ something _ he could do to fix it, if he only knew what.

A long, keening whine broke him from his thoughts. Aaron opened his eyes, rolling his shoulders under cloth heavy with sopping wetness, and cast about for the source.

Another. He crouched down, peering through the shrubbery. In amongst the dappled shadows, two wide, amber eyes peeped back at him, narrow slivered circles around wide pupils, like a perfect eclipse.

For a half-heartbeat, Aaron froze in fright. And then had to bite back his own laughter as he recognised the trembling form before him, tabby fur clinging to its emaciated skeleton. Aaron reached forwards slowly, let his hand hover an inch away from contact. Waited for the hissing to abate.

A sandpaper tongued lapped, cautious, at his fingertips. Moving like the shifts of sands, he wrapped his hand around the kitten, and pulled it out into the light. It mewled, cowering. He sat down in the sodden grass, curling over the creature. Held it until the warmth seeped through his embrace and drew it into sleepy stillness. Then he stood and carried it in through the servant’s entrance to the kitchen, to fetch a rag.

Even the presence of an endearingly bedraggled kitten failed to catch the attention of the humans there, once they had ascertained that he was not bringing any requests from their master. He had kicked Aaron out of bed before the dawn had had time to stretch her rosy fingers, and told him to stay out of the way. He had yet to leave his bedroom, and had snarled at both Aaron and the maid when they had brought his breakfast and lunch, respectively.

Aaron settled himself on the floor by the hearth, where it was warm, and began to tease the wetness out of the kitten’s fur. The cook, Estelle, was glaring at him again, possibly because when he was on this side of the hearth, the staff couldn’t give him a sly kick as they hustled in and out of the kitchen.

Estelle had laughed, when the footman had done that just the once. The footman, Richard, was sweet on Estelle. It had not been just the once.

The kitten uncurled under his light touch, beginning to pummel at his chest. Aaron smiled.

“Don’t you have something useful to be doing?”

Aaron held back his start, and looked slowly up at her. Jannie, one of the kitchen girls. “Mr Jefferson has given me no orders for the day.”

“And that means you can sit around gathering wool?”

Before Aaron could bring himself under control, Estelle called Jannie over. He focused on the cat, aware of footsteps as others, emboldened by the girl, deigned to approach him.

This had not been the intention of introducing the cat into the environment. Bill, the coachman, asked after Mr Jefferson’s mood.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“What’s the good of spending your nights in the man’s bed if you don’t know his mood in the morning?” he demanded, a twist crooking his lips upwards.

Aaron hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir?”

The smirk grew up into a full laugh, billowing out from Bill and catching on human after human about the stilted air of the kitchen. Aaron shrank back against the stone stack, clutching the cat a little closer to himself. It mewled in protest.

“Don’t hurt it,” Jannie scolded, looking up from her pestle.

Aaron kept his expression smooth, shifting the kitten around until it closed its eyes in pleasure. He went back to towelling, gaze pinned on his hands.

“It isn’t proper, keeping his fae in bed with him,” Estelle grumbled.

Aaron kept his bristling under control. They would remember, now, that they didn’t like him.

“It isn’t your business what Mr Jefferson chooses to do in his own bed.” Bill looked Aaron up and down, slowly. “Whatever it is.”

“I’m a selkie, sir,” Aaron said, hazarding at understanding.

Laughter again. He ducked his head, hunching his shoulders over the little charge. It began to purr.

***

Thomas set aside his pen for the umpteenth time, dropping his head in his hands.

_ Damn  _ Lafayette.  _ Damn him to hell _ .

Because, of course, he was grateful for his friend’s life. Of course he was. And  _ of course _ he had grown fond of Aaron. The creature was sweet, and well-mannered, and malleable. Everything he had asked of him.

And unreasonably, selfishly, Thomas didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want that note of betrayal in Aaron’s hunched frame, or fear flickering in black eyes when Thomas moved too fast. Not like after Hamilton’s visit, weeks ago now. The little selkie had tried to hide it, to shield Thomas from his own actions.

That almost made it worse, to do it again.

Picking up his pen, Thomas forced himself to continue. It would hurt him, to follow through. But whether that happened, was out of his hands. He rang the bell.

The house was bigger. He took the moment of waiting to let his head drop in his hands. When Aaron opened the door, he straightened and held out the note. “Have this delivered to--”

He broke off. Blinked. Stared.

Aaron followed his gaze. “One of the kitchen mousers must have followed me?”

“Don’t lie to me, Aaron,” Thomas chided. Didn’t strike him. Not now.

The kitten mewled.

“It’s cold outside, sir. And wet.”

The kitten, with shocking prescience, stared up at Thomas through wide, hopeful eyes. The note felt as though it were burning through his skin. Pity coiled, hard and cold, in his gut.

He sighed. “I’ve no reason to care if we have one cat the more or less, Aaron, though I won’t have it following you to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Aaron ducked his head, as if trying to hide the first curl of a smile. “The note, sir?”

Thomas sighed, and reached up to caress Aaron’s cheek, slowly. Pressed the note into his palm. “Deliver this to Mr Hamilton. I would prefer you not to linger whilst he reads it, though if he prefers to set it aside then you may dally a while.”

“Yes, sir,” Aaron said.

Thomas pulled away his hand and shook his head. “Good boy. Run along, now.”

As Aaron slipped out, the cat at his heels, Thomas sat down on the bed. And let his head fall into his hands. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *suspenseful drumroll*
> 
> Thanks for your feedback, everyone who commented last week. I'm going with the sequel and shorter ending, so there's only three chapters left of this one! Two to bring us to the ending I had planned, and one more to lay a little groundwork. I hope you guys are enjoying where I'm heading with this, and as always I love to hear from you either here or on tumblr (same username). Until next week, please enjoy this kitten!


	17. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron pays a visit to the Hamilton household.

“Please don’t ignore me,” Alexander said, his voice quiet and cast adrift.

Gilbert flinched. He wanted nothing more than to extend an arm. To reach out an arm and draw Alexander close, let him curl up in the warm hollow of his side and rest there. It hurt his heart to refuse him, but every other fibre of his body screamed in outrage. “I do not believe there could be anything more for you to say to me, Alexander.”

If his gaze had not been transfixed on the letter in front of him, Gilbert was sure he would have seen Alexander flinch. News came thick and fast from France these days, each letter contradicting the last. His Adrienne’s hand was shaking as she wrote, explaining that if he had left for France then he would find neither her nor her children there, as she intended to flee Paris with their family or die trying.

Die. His wife, strong and fierce and beautiful as she was, might die in the turmoil their country had become. A revolution that had turned too fast against its nobles, its fae, its countrymen who had not flocked to the barricade. Perhaps, if he had been there, it might have not been so. Might have been slower to turn on this savage tide. Might have been safe for his children, had he not been absent.

The young American government had still been in the fledgling stages of debating intervention in France when the horrors had begun to flood in. Gilbert had thought that his greatest stress would be his anger at Alexander, at Alexander’s stance and Alexander’s actions, or his own inaction and the frustration it hammered through his ribcage. Even fear, for his friends who might not heed the tides of change.

Not this. This all-consuming terror dragging him down into the depths of sorrow, dragging like lead weights in a shipwreck.

The letter crumpled in his hand as Alexander spoke again. “Please, Lafayette. Tell me what to do.”

“There is nothing, my friend.” Gilbert felt his head fall forwards, his untied hair flopping into his gaze, completely beyond his control. With Alexander right there, he had never felt so alone in all his life. “They are my children. My wife, whom I love. And anything might have happened to them.”

“That isn’t my fault!” Alexander snapped. Almost immediately, he dropped, hands slamming into the seat by Gilbert’s legs, dripping with apology. “I did not mean that, Gilbert, I swear, I only--”

“You only meant that I should not blame you? Then who? Myself, for rushing off to travel rather than follow the politics Adrienne tried to speak of with me? The redcap, whom we both have reason enough to hate already? Our friend George, whom I love like a father, for being a man so good as to permit debate, rather than rushing off like a dictator and dragging his army into foreign wars? My wife, who hasn’t an obedient bone in her entire frame, but remained in France at my request? No.”

“You needn’t blame anyone. Some things simply happen, and then you must rise to meet them.”

Gilbert looked down at Alexander’s wide, pleading eyes. “Do you intend to speak for my country? To take back your stance? Or do you know of some way I can find my wife, my children?”

“I--” A bell rang. In response, a baby’s high, warbling wail cut through the air between them. “No. I do not.”

The maid stepped through the door, and waited politely as Alexander stood and brushed himself off. “A messenger for you, Mr Hamilton, sir.”

“Show them in.”

The maid stepped aside, and allowed the messenger into the room.

Aaron. A note clutched lightly in his fingertips. A breath of fresh sea breeze curling over him about the room.

“Aaron!” Though both men had spoken as one, it was Alexander who had started across the room, halting midstep when the little selkie shrank back, holding the note out like a shield. Alexander took it.

“He says I may stay as long as it is unopened,” Aaron said quietly.

With rather more dramaticism than was strictly necessary, Alexander tossed the note over his shoulder in the direction of his desk. “It will wait. Have some tea brought up, and see if Betsey will consent to join us,” he told the maid.

She slipped away.

Disregarding Alexander’s gesture towards a free seat, Gilbert moved up to free the space Alexander preferred to occupy against his side for Aaron. Eagerly, the selkie slotted in and tucked himself into the neat space there.

“Hello, little one,” he murmured.

Aaron nuzzled against his side. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Are you well? Has he been mistreating you?” Alexander demanded.

“No, sir.”

“No, you’re not well? Or no, you’ve not been mistreated?”

Gilbert could feel Aaron’s cringing press him into his side. “Patience, Alexander. Let him settle.”

A moment’s silence, Alexander all but vibrating with his restraint. Cool against Gilbert’s skin, Aaron sighed.

“I’m very glad to see you both again,” he said softly.

“As we are you, Aaron,” Gilbert affirmed, putting aside his angers to give Alexander a pointed look.

Alexander coughed uncomfortably, looking anywhere but Aaron. “It’s been pointed out—I mean, I’ve realised—” He paused, managed to cast his eyes down onto Aaron. “I haven’t apologised. And I am so, so sorry for what I did to you.”

Tucked against Gilbert’s side, Aaron’s frame went hunched and whipcord-tight. “I’m grateful.”

“You had no difficulty insulting me the last time we spoke, don’t take it upon yourself to lie now,” Alexander quipped, tucking his hands away anxiously.

Aaron laughed, and then fell abruptly silent. Gilbert twisted in his seat to look at him properly. Head ducked, one hand raised to hide his smile.

He could have killed his old friend Thomas in that moment. Instead, carefully not looking down at the little fae, he draped an arm loosely over Aaron’s shoulders, feather-light, and tugged back the shielding hand.

Alexander’s face lit up at Aaron’s expression. The moment stretched, thinned, and shattered as Eliza Hamilton stepped in the door. When Alexander turned to her, the joy on his face barely changed at all.

Aaron stood and bowed, despite Gilbert’s hand tugging him back. “Mrs Hamilton.”

“May I present Aaron Burr?” Alexander drew Eliza close, and she allowed Aaron to brush his lips over her hand.

“I’ve heard plenty about you,” she said. “I had never heard of such a thing—what is it like?”

Aaron allowed Gilbert to drag him back down. “I’m sorry?”

“The sea?”

“Oh.” The sound was a soft little gasp, as though all the breath had rushed up out of Aaron in one gushing wave. Gilbert could have kissed Eliza. “It’s beautiful. That, more than anything else.”

Hesitant, at first, then gushing in nervous tips and tumbles of elaboration. Aaron described the running dances of a travelling pod, the twists of the currents against his skin. The hazy swirls of corals and seaweeds, the elegant brilliance of a shoal in one accord. The frothing fury of the white horses, and ever-patient shifting of the dark sands. Further north than they had met him, the kaleidoscopic beauty of the glacier prisms and the vicious brilliance of the whale killers.

Aaron broke off, sheepish, when Eliza shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, don’t be. That all sounds incredible,” she assured him.

Alexander nodded, earnest and too fast. “Truly. Wonderful.”

He was staring right at Aaron. Gilbert shook his head in disbelief.

The moment held, stretched tight, and tore. Aaron stood, brushing himself down and bowing politely. “I should really leave, sirs. I’m grateful for your hospitality. Please, do read Mr Jefferson’s letter once I’m gone.”

“Let me see you out.” Eliza stood, poised as ever, and waited as first Gilbert, and then Alexander, caught the selkie in a fierce, tight embrace. Then she guided him out.

Scooping up the letter, Alexander turned to Gilbert, all doe eyes and captivated eagerness. “I’d forgotten,” he admitted. “How much I enjoyed his company, when we first met. How wonderful I found him.”

Gilbert tossed his head back in exasperated disbelief. “If you are about to tell me you love him, Alexander--”

“And what if I do?”

“Alexander. You abducted and enslaved him. Nailed his skin to a tree. And whilst I cannot rest the blame on you for the tortures that Thomas might have lain upon him, I am sure that Thomas had no such compunctions.”

“That isn’t e—” Alexander broke off, fingers tightening around Thomas’ note. “No. I’m quite certain he has none whatsoever.”

Gilbert started forwards, all his angers at Alexander melting under the hot glare of concern at his friend’s horrified tremors. “What is it?”

“My stance on intervention in France,” Alexander said, flushing red hot and tearing his eyes up to meet Gilbert’s gaze for just a moment. “Jefferson must think a loss here could do him some real damage. Or perhaps his principles are far stronger than I thought.”

“He wants you to support him? For intervention?” A hot, spiky mess of hope and fear stabbed at Gilbert’s throat.

“He’s ordering me to. Threatening Aaron.”

Half a heartbeat, and Alexander was in his arms. Unready for the weight, Gilbert fell back into his seat, and allowed his friend to sob whilst his own gaze flickered, helpless, between the two letters.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eliiiiiiiiiiza!
> 
> Is it a coincidence that Alex finally remembers to apologise around the same time his wife comes home? I think not. I would apologise, but honestly you guys are expecting this by now. I'm really not happy with the ending of this chapter but it was getting super long so I had to really cut it down. Come and scream at me on [tumblr](http://pennylehane.tumblr.com/)!


	18. Unnamed Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson makes a dangerous mistake.

Aaron sat on the floor by Jefferson’s feet, petting the unnamed cat. It sat perfectly still, purring, eyes slitted in contentment. The sound relaxed Aaron, who leaned back against Mr Jefferson’s shins with a soft huff of breath.

One hand came down to scruff gently over his scalp. He hummed, his own eyes sliding shut. It was the tail end of a long night of work for Mr Jefferson, and for Aaron aiding him, and he was now reading through his work one last time before they went to bed.

He drifted, warm and content, fear only a distant coil of smoke in his lungs. Time fell into the distance as the steady rhythm of Mr Jefferson’s hand moving, or the cat’s purring as it rose and fell.

Eventually, the moment had to end, and Jefferson was hauling him roughly to his feet. Aaron managed to scoop the cat to safely before it tumbled, and hastened after Mr Jefferson to their bedroom.

He could feel Mr Jefferson’s eyes on him as he readied them both for bed, again. He had seemed different, these last few days. The change was worrying.

Fully undressed, the lantern lit, Aaron climbed into the bed, lying perfectly still with his head resting just below the pillow. The bed dipped, but nothing touched him.

A moment passed. Two. Fighting back fear, Aaron twisted his neck and opened his eyes to see what was happening.

Mr Jefferson was sitting on the bed, looking down at Aaron with that same odd note of pity. A sharp twist in his lips. Seeing Aaron’s eyes open, he reached out a hand and stroked heavily down Aaron’s bare chest, petting him almost soothingly.

“Sir?” he asked, in a whisper.

Jefferson flinched, barely perceptible in the gloomy candlelight. “Little Burr,” he murmured. “You’ve been so good.”

Aaron stared, confusion building. “Sir?”

“You were right. After you saw Hamilton in the market.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, sir,” Aaron said, cringing as much as he could, lying on his back.

Jefferson shook his head. “Of course you didn’t, sweet little thing. You were being very good, and you must have been very confused. But you were right, little Burr, I hurt you. The night before that. You had given me no reason to punish you.”

Aaron said nothing, for fear of the response.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Aaron.”

“Then don’t.” Aaron flinched back in anticipation, but was met only with one hand curling over his check in a slow caress. He fell into perfect stillness.

Jefferson reached down with his other hand to cover Aaron with the bedsheet. Aaron still did not move. Even when, over the sheet, Jefferson moved to straddle him, and pinned him to the bed.

“Did I frighten you, that night?” Jefferson asked.

Aaron’s heart began to thump, fever-fast, painfully hard against his ribs. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to frighten you.”  _ Too late. _ “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Of course, sir,” he lied. Flattered.

Jefferson’s breath hitched, almost an echo of a sob. “Sweet, trusting, little thing,” he murmured to himself.

He could feel his heartbeats in his fingertips, now. “Sir?”

“You wouldn’t understand if I did tell you,” Jefferson said, more to himself than to Aaron. His hand trailed down from Aaron’s cheek to his throat.

The shuddering heartbeats stopped completely. Aaron was suddenly, icily, sure that he was about to die.

The hand pressed. He choked, thrashed. Jefferson yanked back his hand, and used it to catch Aaron’s free arm. “Try not to be frightened,” he insisted.

Struggling desperately, Aaron turned to hide his face in the pillow and then remembered that day in the market. Meeting Hamilton’s gaze. The cool rush of control wrapped around his bones.

He looked up, and met Jefferson’s eyes. “Stop,” he croaked.

Jefferson froze.

Without Jefferson deliberately holding him down, Aaron could scramble out from under him. Rage was building on the man’s face, overtaking pity, duelling with fear.

With one last, mad, push of power, Aaron managed to bark, “Don’t follow me.”

He snatched a coat to cover himself, and fled. The little cat, with alarming prescience, ran out after him.

***

Alexander paced, trying to shake the revulsion in Lafayette’s gaze. Eliza’s. They were gone, ostensibly to await Adrienne’s arrival together, but Alexander knew it was to get away from him.

There was nothing else he could have done. He couldn’t—he did love Aaron. Not the way he loved Eliza, or loved John, perhaps—and maybe that was what Lafayette had thought he meant, why he had scoffed at the very thought—but he did love him.

Or at least, he had begun to love him. Had hoped to grow to love him. And so, of course, he would never want to see him hurt again. But—Jefferson would not kill the fae, had gone to too much trouble to acquire and break him. But if he changed his stance, people  _ would _ die, he believed that with every fibre of his heart. His people.

And perhaps his pride had egged him on, had not wanted to concede to being outmanoeuvred by Jefferson, but that was not the sum of his reasoning, whatever Lafayette might think.

Aaron would have understood. He was bright, and kind, and all those other qualities that had drawn Alexander to him, and he would understand. Jefferson might be cruel, might even be evil if he were capable of each thing that had crossed Alexander’s mind in terror of his own mistakes.

This was the right choice to make. Nobody would die from it. Lafayette was—shaken by fear. His family were in danger. Of course he was irrational.

A sound at the window. Alexander halted in his pacing.

There was a cat pawing at his window.

Alexander opened it, to let the little creature in from the rain, but it yowled again, and ran back a little, before sitting down to watch him.

Alexander stared for a moment, and then remembered the fairy tales Lafayette had told him, back in that inn. The book of fae he had borrowed, back on the coast.

Without stopping to gather his travelling things, he climbed out of the window to follow the cat.

It led him deep into the narrow pathways of the city. He didn’t recognise the paths, though the cat was leading him through passages behind houses and twisty alleyways that a coach would not pass, so he might be anywhere by the time he saw it.

A huddled lump, tucked against a wall. A head that lifted at the sound of the cat’s wail.

Alexander’s lungs grew heavy and stiff. “Aaron?”

The little fae moved to stand. Then dropped, unmoving, to the road. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm so, so, sorry. I promise Aaron's going to be in the sequel, though, so hell be fine. One chapter left! If you want to yell at me, you know where to find me. 
> 
> Also, I've made this into a series if you want to keep an eye out for the sequel which is coming along in a while. In the meantime, I'm planning to post the first chapter of my urban legends au before the final chapter of this, so check that out if you're interested!


	19. Court Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

Gilbert fell into the seat waiting for him at Aaron’s side and fumbled blindly to interlock their hands. Alexander was watching.

Gilbert did not have to look up to see the way his fingers twitched, as if itching for a pen to map out his thoughts, the way he shifted from foot to foot in anxiety, the way he chewed at a loose strand of hair.

“Speak, Alexander,” he said, quietly.

“It’s not my fault!” The shout burst out almost instantly, startlingly loud. Alexander’s breaths hit the air, sharp and jagged. Slowed, when Gilbert failed to speak. “I just found him.”

“I know.”

“This is  _ not _ my doing!”

“So you say.” Gaze still pinned on Aaron’s slack jaw, and closed eyes, Gilbert shook his head. “I am tired, Alexander.”

“You just got back, you should be resting, or with your wife, your children will have missed you, I can stay with him!” Alexander bounced restlessly on the balls of his feet, flickering in and out of the edge of Gilbert’s vision.

“My children are sleeping.”

“Adrienne--”

“Will be fine with Eliza. She understands that my friend is hurt, and I wish to be alone with him.”

The huffy little breath Alexander made when caught between guilt and hurt. “Lafayette-”

“Where else is he hurt?” Burr was so small. Wrapped tightly in Alexander’s sheets. Fresh bruises blossoming over old ones. A ring of handprints like a macabre necklace on his throat, one long gash running the length of his cheek.

“I think it’s mostly the chill,” Alexander said quietly. Defeated. “He only wore a coat when I found him. But the bruises are rather worse than I imagined. It looks as though Jefferson could have taken a crop to the back of his legs, though his back isn’t marked. None of the rest is as bad as what you can see, I swear.”

“Thank you.” Gilbert felt his hand tighten on Aaron’s. “The coat?”

“I recognised it as Jefferson’s. I’ve wrapped it to be returned to him.”

“He did not bring the skin?”

“No. There wasn’t even anything in the pockets. I don’t believe that Jefferson simply allowed him to leave. I don’t know how he escaped, though, but if you recall my suspicions regarding--”

“Hamilton, please fetch my wife.”

Something in his tone must have been more deathly serious than he intended. Alexander finally left the room.

***

The first stirrings of consciousness, like ripples brushing over his skin before the tide. The sun’s warmth, creeping over his skin. He half-turned, twisting, let the first pale ripples of light pierce his eyelids. There was a voice. Female, a soft accent resting lightly over heavy syllables he couldn’t quite force himself to translate.

Soft sheets over his torso. Aaron woke with a strangled gasp, eyes snapping open blindly, every muscle clamping down to perfect stillness.

The voice broke off to a hushed whisper.

Warmth on top of him. His heart, cringing back against his spine.

“You’re safe, little one,” said Lafayette’s voice. Then Aaron recognised him, a face just shy of looming over him, concerned dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Lafayette?” Through sheer force of will he forced his eyes to focus properly, and recognise the form slumped against the foot of the bed, a soft ball of grey purring in his lap. “Mr Hamilton?”

With a crinkled smile, Lafayette made a hushing gesture, and leaned forwards to help Aaron when he struggled to sit up. “Has exhausted himself.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” His voice came out rough and raspy. He swallowed.

The soft sunshine-warmth fell over him again, trancelike in its comfort. He managed to turn, and then his jaw slacked. Swallowed again, and drew an easier breath.

“You have not met my wife,” Lafayette said, quietly. “Adrienne, Aaron.”

Aaron tamped down on his first response with vicious force. “My lady,” he whispered instead.

Adrienne laughed, not so much the tinkling of bells as the sound that would be made by sunlight on water, if it made a sound at all. “A pleasure to see you awake. Gilbert has told me so much.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He did not shrink back, or stare, or turn back to Lafayette in panic. “Are you quite well?”

She laughed again, looking over him at her husband. “You’re right. He is sweet.”

“You doubted me?”

Aaron flinched well before Lafayette’s hand could come down lightly on his shoulder, not turning away from Adrienne.

“We’ve frightened you,” she said. The sense of heady comfort grew, almost intoxicating. Aaron’s eyelids drooped.

Lafayette sucked in a breath. “No, no, little one, don’t be afraid.”

Even under the swell of sleepiness, Aaron could feel his skin crawling. The acid sting of betrayal boiled up his throat.

“Oh,  _ trésor _ **,** no.” Adrienne reached over him to place her hand over Lafayette’s on his own. “I am here by my own choice. Quite against the wishes of my husband, if truth be told.”

Lafayette gave a harsh little choke of horror, as he must have caught up to Aaron’s thought. Aaron half-cringed in anticipation.  “I could never hurt my wife, Aaron, even if I in any moment wished to.”

“And you know, sir?” Aaron whispered.

“Of course I know. It is not common, perhaps, but not at all unheard of. You do not know of such things?”

“The sea can be cruel, and her children often cold, and distant,” Adrienne said. “You know this, my love. They are not like our courts.”

Lafayette laughed. “Such an impression you must wish to make, to offer such insult.”

“I take no offense, my lady,” Aaron said, rushed enough to forget his aching throat and worsen it. He tried again, quieter. “Few of us would disagree.”

“And that has nothing to do with a little stray’s fear of stronger powers,” she replied, tone laden with playful doubt.

He looked up at her, uncertain. Had not expected her to speak the word aloud. Words had power. But she was smiling, that same fruity, wine-soaked joy of summer dancing in her eyes.

Lafayette was still holding their hands together between the both of his when Hamilton woke, jolting upright, and swept Aaron into his embrace without so much as a moment’s thought.

The unnamed cat yowled piteously at the disruption, and scrambled up into Aaron’s arms as he was released. Dawn broke, creeping through the drawn curtains to play merrily in the bouncing curls of Adrienne’s hair, drawing out the room’s warm tones. A little later, as the rest of the house began to rise and the Lafayette’s left to wake their children, Hamilton helped Aaron out of his bed. When he stumbled, rather than leave him where he was, Hamilton scooped him up and carried to the family dining room. He made a feeble attempt at greeting Eliza politely, unable to stand from his chair as they were served.

She came to his rescue when Hamilton began to insist on mashing his food for him, making Lafayette’s children laugh, and breaking them from their well-mannered silence. The boy began to complain loudly of his hatred of a vegetable he couldn’t name in English. The room bubbled with warmth, and Aaron would have been hard pressed to say for sure whether this was Adrienne’s summer magic, or the simple joy of the reunited family, especially under the trumpeting steamroll of the Hamilton brood streaming in to join their new playmates, one by one.

The girl asked if she could play with his cat, and was horrified to learn that he had no name. This rapidly became the dominating topic of conversation. Hamilton, with perhaps more ostentatious pride than was entirely necessary, suggested Salvation. A six year old informed him quite primly that that was an awfully silly name for a cat, and he should clearly be called Leo. Adrienne suggested Yvain. Eliza quashed a merry argument amongst the children as to which of them the cat should be named after, and whether this would be honour or insult, before adding that the only person present who deserved such a slur was Hamilton.

“We are  _ not _ naming the cat Hamilton,” Lafayette said, dismissively. “The cat is far more useful.”

“Gilbert!” Adrienne chided, as Hamilton choked on mock offense. She set down her cutlery. “We should call the cat  _ Bottes _ .”

Eliza agreed that this was sweet, and the children accepted unanimously that their word was law. Bottes, oblivious, bounced up into Hamilton’s lap, and stole his bacon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys, end of the ride! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, I loved writing this so much! I've done so many fics that didn't get a scrap of feedback, this has been completely amazing!
> 
> There will be a sequel coming, so keep an eye out for that (subscribe to the series if you want to be notified then it arrives), and feel free to keep sending prompts from this universe to my [tumblr](http://pennylehane.tumblr.com/). Or just come and say hi, I'm not scary! In the meantime, I'm currently writing my [urban legends au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10533795) (or go check out the smut fic I wrote this morning, and I'm planning to keep writing prompt fills and a few more fairy tales aus because I really love these. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much!


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